The  ENCHANTED  HAT 


ENCIW1TED 

HAT 


HAROLD 

Author  of  The  Man  on  the 

Box,  Hearts  and  Masks 

Half  a  Rogue,  Etc. 

With  Illustrations  by  WillGrefe 

Decorations  lp  Franklin  Booth 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBSMERRJLL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


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COPYRIGHT  1908 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

SEPTEMBER 


Marjorie  and  Walter  Trumbull 


2021320 


The  ENCHANTED  HAT 


THE   ENCHANTED  HAT 

IT  was  half-after  six  when  I  entered 
Martin's  from  the  Broadway  side. 
I  chose  a  table  by  the  north  wall  and  sat 
down  on  the  cushioned  seat.  I  ordered 
dinner,  and  the  ample  proportions  of  it 
completely  hoodwinked  the  waiter  as 
to  the  condition  of  my  cardiac  afflic 
tion:  being,  as  I  was,  desperately  and 
hopelessly  and  miserably  in  love.  Old 
owls  say  that  a  man  can  not  eat  when 
he  is  in  love.  He  can  if  he  is  mad  at  the 
way  the  object  of  his  affections  has 
treated  him;  and  I  was  mad.  To  be 
i 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

sure,  I  can  not  recall  what  my  order 
was,  but  the  amount  of  the  waiter's 
check  is  still  vivid  to  my  recollection. 

I  glanced  about.  The  cafe  was 
crowded,  as  it  usually  is  at  this  hour. 
Here  and  there  I  caught  glimpses  of 
celebrities  and  familiar  faces:  journal 
ists,  musicians,  authors,  artists  and  act 
ors.  This  is  the  time  they  drop  in  to 
be  pointed  out  to  strangers  from  out  of 
town.  It's  a  capital  advertisement.  To 
night,  however,  none  of  these  interested 
me  in  the  slightest  degree;  rather,  their 
animated  countenances  angered  me. 
How  could  they  laugh  and  look  happy! 

At  my  left  sat  a  young  man  about  my 
own  age.  He  was  also  in  evening  dress. 
At  my  right  a  benevolent  old  gentle- 
2 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

man,  whose  eye-glasses  balanced  neatly 
upon  the  end  of  his  nose,  was  deeply  in 
terested  in  The  Law  Journal  and  a  pint 
of  mineral  water.  A  little  beyond  my 
table  was  an  exiled  Frenchman,  and  the 
irritating  odor  of  absinthe  drifted  at 
times  across  my  nostrils. 

With  my  coffee  I  ordered  a  glass  of 
Dantzic,  and  watched  the  flakes  of 
beaten  gold  waver  and  settle;  and  pres 
ently  I  devoted  myself  entirely  to  my 
own  particularly  miserable  thoughts. 
.  .  .  To  be  in  love  and  in  debt!  To 
be  with  the  gods  one  moment  and 
hunted  by  a  bill-collector  the  next!  To 
have  the  girl  you  love  snub  and  dismiss 
you  for  no  more  lucid  reason  than  that 
you  did  not  attend  the  dance  at  the 

3 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Country  Club  when  you  promised  you 
would!  It  did  not  matter  that  you  had 
a  case  on  that  night  from  which  de 
pended  a  large  slice  of  your  bread  and 
butter;  no,  that  did  not  matter.  Nei 
ther  did  the  fact  that  you  had  mixed 
the  dates.  You  had  promised  to  go,  and 
you  hadn't  gone  or  notified  the  girl  that 
you  wouldn't  go.  Your  apologetic  tele 
gram  she  had  torn  into  halves  and  re 
turned  the  following  morning,  together 
with  a  curt  note  to  the  effect  that  she 
could  not  value  the  friendship  of  a  man 
who  made  and  broke  a  promise  so 
easily.  It  was  all  over.  It  was  a  dashed 
hard  world.  How  the  deuce  do  you 
win  a  girl,  anyhow? 

Suppose,  besides,  that  you  possessed 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

a  rich  uncle  who  said  that  on  the  day  of 
your  wedding  he  would  make  over  to 
you  fifty  thousand  in  Government  three 
per  cents.  Hard,  wasn't  it?  Suppose 
that  you  were  earning  about  two  thou 
sand  a  year,  and  that  the  struggle  to 
keep  up  smart  appearances  was  a  keen 
one.  Wouldn't  you  have  been  eager  to 
marry,  especially  the  girl  you  loved? 
A  man  can  not  buy  flowers  twice  a 
week,  dine  before  and  take  supper  after 
the  theater  twice  a  week,  belong  (and 
pay  dues  and  house-accounts)  to  a 
country  club,  a  town  club  and  keep  re 
spectable  bachelor  apartments  on  two 
thousand  .  .  .  and  save  anything. 
And  suppose  the  girl  was  indepen 
dently  rich.  Heigh-ho! 

5 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

I  find  that  a  man  needs  more  money 
in  love  than  he  does  in  debt.  This  is 
not  to  say  that  I  was  ever  very  hard 
pressed;  but  I  hated  to  pay  ten  dollars 
"on  account"  when  the  total  was  only 
twenty.  You  understand  me,  don't  you? 
If  you  don't,  somebody  who  reads  this 
will.  Of  course,  the  girl  knew  nothing 
about  these  things.  A  young  man  al 
ways  falls  into  the  fault  of  magnifying 
his  earning  capacity  to  the  girl  he  loves. 
You  see,  I  hadn't  told  her  yet  that  I 
loved  her,  though  I  was  studying  up 
somebody  on  Moral  and  Physical 
Courage  for  that  purpose. 

And  now  it  was  all  over! 

I  did  not  care  so  much  about  my 
uncle's  gold-bonds,  but  I  did  think  a 
6 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

powerful  lot  of  the  girl.  Why,  when  I 
recall  the  annoyances  I've  put  up  with 
from  that  kid  brother  of  hers  I  .  .  . 
Pshaw,  what's  the  use? 

His  mother  called  him  "Toddy-One- 
Boy,"  in  memory  of  a  book  she  had 
read  long  years  ago.  He  was  six  years 
old,  and  I  never  think  of  him  without 
that  jingle  coming  to  mind: 

"Little  Willie  choked  his  sister, 
She  was  dead  before  they  missed  her. 
Willie's  always  up  to  tricks. 
Ain't  he  cute,  he's  only  six  I" 

He  had  the  face  of  a  Bouguereau 
cherub,  and  mild  blue  eyes  such  as  we 
are  told  inhabit  the  countenances  of  ari- 
gels.  He  was  the  most  innocent-look 
ing  chap  you  ever  set  eyes  on.  His 
7 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

mother  called  him  an  angel;  I  should 
hate  to  tell  you  what  the  neighbors 
called  him.  He  lacked  none  of  that 
subtle  humor  so  familiar  in  child-life. 
Heavens!  the  deeds  I  could  (if  I 
dared)  enumerate.  They  turned  him 
loose  among  the  comic  supplements  one 
Sunday,  and  after  that  it  was  all  over. 
Hadn't  he  emptied  his  grandma's 
medicine  capsules  and  substituted  cot 
ton?  And  hadn't  dear  old  grandma 
come  down-stairs  three  days  later,  say 
ing  that  she  felt  much  improved? 
Hadn't  he  beaten  out  the  brains  of  his 
toy  bank  and  bought  up  the  peanut  man 
on  the  corner?  Yes,  indeed!  And 
hadn't  he  taken  my  few  letters  from  his 
sister's  desk  and  played  postman  up  and 
8 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

down  the  street?  His  papa  thought  it 
all  a  huge  joke  till  one  of  the  neighbors 
brought  back  a  dunning  dressmaker's 
bill  that  had  lain  on  the  said  neighbor's 
porch.  It  was  altogether  a  different 
matter  then.  Toddy-One-Boy  crawled 
under  the  bed  that  night,  and  only  his 
mother's  tears  saved  him  from  a  hiding. 
All  these  things  I  thought  over  as  I 
sat  at  my  table.  She  knew  that  I  would 
have  gone  had  it  been  possible.  Wom 
en  and  logic  are  only  cousins  german. 
Six  months  ago  I  hadn't  been  in  love 
with  any  one  but  myself,  and  now  the 
Virgil  of  love's  dream  was  leading  me 
like  a  new  Dante  through  his  Inferno, 
and  was  pointing  out  the  foster-brother 
of  Sisyphus  (if  he  had  a  foster- 

9 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

brother),  pushing  the  stone  of  my 
lady's  favor  up  the  steeps  of  Forlorn 
Hope.  Well,  I  would  go  up  to  the 
club,  and  if  I  didn't  get  home  till 
mor-r-ning,  who  was  there  to  care? 

The  Frenchman  had  gone,  and  the 
benevolent  old  gentleman.  The  crowd 
was  thinning  out.  The  young  man  at 
my  left  rose,  and  I  rose  also.  We  both 
stared  thoughtfully  at  the  hat-rack. 
There  hung  two  hats :  an  opera-hat  and 
a  dilapidated  old  stovepipe.  The  young 
fellow  reached  up  and,  quite  naturally, 
selected  the  opera-hat.  He  glanced  into 
it,  and  immediately  a  wrinkle  of  an 
noyance  darkened  his  brow.  He  held 
the  hat  toward  me. 

"Is  this  yours?"  he  asked. 
10 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

I  looked  at  the  label. 

"No."  The  wrinkle  of  annoyance 
sprang  from  his  brow  to  mine.  My 
opera-hat  had  cost  me  eight  dollars. 

The  young  fellow  laughed  rather 
lamely.  "Do  you  live  in  New  York?" 
he  asked. 

I  nodded. 

"So  do  I,"  he  continued;  "and  yet  it 
is  evident  that  both  of  us  have  been 
neatly  caught."  He  thought  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  brightened.  "I'll  tell  you 
what;  let's  match  for  the  good  one." 

I  gazed  indignantly  at  the  rusty 
stovepipe.  "Done!"  said  I. 

I  lost;  I  knew  that  I  should;  and  the 
young  fellow  walked  off  with  the  good 
hat.  Then,  with  the  relic  in  my  hand,  a 
II 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

waiter  and  myself  began  a  systematic 
search.  My  hat  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  How  the  deuce  was  I  to  get  up 
town  to  the  club?  I  couldn't  wear  the 
old  plug;  I  wasn't  rich  enough  for  such 
an  eccentricity.  I  had  nothing  but  a 
silk  hat  at  the  apartment,  and  I  hated  it 
because  it  was  always  in  the  way  when 
I  entered  carriages  and  elevators. 

Angrily,  I  strode  up  to  the  cashier's 
desk  and  explained  the  situation,  leav 
ing  my  address  and  the  number  of  my 
apartment;  my  name  wasn't  necessary. 

Troubles  never  come  singly.  Here  I 
had  lost  my  girl  and  my  hat,  to  say 
nothing  of  my  temper — of  the  three  the 
most  certain  to  be  found  again.  I 
passed  out  of  the  cafe,  bareheaded  and 
12 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

hot-headed.  I  hailed  a  cab  and  climbed 
in.  I  had  finally  determined  to  return 
to  my  rooms  and  study.  I  simply  could 
not  afford  to  be  seen  with  that  stove 
pipe  hat  either  on  my  head  or  under 
my  arm.  Had  I  been  green  from  col 
lege  it  is  probable  that  I  should  have 
worn  it  proudly  and  defiantly.  But  I 
had  left  college  behind  these  six  years. 
Hang  these  old  duffers  who  are  so 
absent-minded!  For  I  was  confident 
that  the  benevolent  old  gentleman  was 
the  cause  of  all  this  confusion.  Inside 
the  cab  I  tried  on  the  thing,  just  to  get 
a  picture  in  my  mind  of  the  old  gentle 
man  going  it  up  Broadway  with  my 
opera-hat  on  his  head.  The  hat  sagged 
over  my  ears ;  and  I  laughed.  The  pic- 

13 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

ture  I  had  conjured  up  was  too  much 
for  my  anger,  which  vanished  sud 
denly.  And  once  I  had  laughed  I  felt 
a  trifle  more  agreeable  toward  the 
world.  So  long  as  a  man  can  see  the 
funny  side  of  things  he  has  no  active 
desire  to  leave  life  behind;  and  laugh 
ter  does  more  to  lighten  his  sorrows 
than  sympathy,  which  only  aggravates 
them. 

After  all,  the  old  gentleman  would 
feel  the  change  more  sharply  than  I. 
This  was,  in  all  probability,  the  only 
hat  he  had.  I  turned  it  over  and  scru 
tinized  it.  It  was  a  genteel  old  beaver, 
with  an  air  of  respectability  that  was 
quite  convincing.  There  was  nothing 
smug  about  it,  either.  It  suggested 

»4 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

amiability  in  the  man  who  had  recently 
possessed  it.  It  suggested  also  a  mild 
contempt  for  public  opinion,  which  is 
always  a  sign  of  superior  mentality  and 
advanced  years.  I  began  to  draw  a 
mental  portrait  of  the  old  man.  He 
was  a  family  lawyer,  doubtless,  who 
lived  in  the  past  and  hugged  his  ret 
rospections.  When  we  are  young  there 
is  never  any  vanishing  point  to  our  day 
dreams.  Well,  well!  On  the  morrow 
he  would  have  a  new  hat,  of  approved 
shape  and  pattern;  unless,  indeed,  he 
possessed  others  like  this  which  had 
fallen  into  my  keeping.  Perhaps  he 
would  soon  discover  his  mistake,  return 
to  the  cafe  and  untangle  the  snarl.  I 
sincerely  hoped  he  would.  As  I  re- 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

marked,  my  hat  had  cost  me  eight  dol 
lars. 

I  soon  arrived  at  my  apartments,  and 
got  into  a  smoking- jacket.  I  rather 
delight  in  lolling  around  in  a  dress- 
shirt;  it  looks  so  like  the  pictures  we  see 
in  the  fashionable  novels.  I  picked  up 
Blackstone  and  turned  to  his  "promis 
sory  notes."  I  had  two  or  three  out 
myself.  It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the 
hall-boy's  bell  rang,  and  I  placed  my 
ear  to  the  tube.  A  gentleman  wished  to 
see  me  in  regard  to  a  lost  hat. 

"Send  him  up,  James;  send  him 
up!"  I  bawled  down  the  tube.  Visions 
of  the  club  returned,  and  I  tossed 
Blackstone  into  a  corner. 

Presently  there  came  a  tap  on  the 
16 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT, 

door,  and  I  flung  it  wide.  But  my  visi 
tor  was  not  the  benevolent  old  gentle 
man.  He  was  the  Frenchman  whose 
absinthe  had  offended  me.  He  glanced 
at  the  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"I  have  zee  honaire  to  address  zee — 
ah — gentleman  in  numbaire  six?" 

"I  live  here." 

"Delight'!  We  have  meexed  zee 
hats,  I  have  zee  r-r-regret.  Ees  thees 
your  hat?"  He  held  out,  for  my  inspec 
tion,  an  opera-hat.  "I  am  so  absent- 
mind' — what  you  call  deestrait?" — af 
fably. 

I  took  the  hat,  which  at  first  glance 
I  thought  to  be  mine,  and  went  over  to 
the  rack,  taking  down  the  old  stove 
pipe. 

17 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"This  is  yours,  then?"  I  said,  smil 
ing. 

"Thousand  thanks,  m'sieu!  Eet  ees 
certain  mine.  I  have  zee  honaire  to  beg 
pardon  for  zee  confusion.  My  compli 
ments!  Goodnight!" 

Without  giving  the  hat  a  single 
glance,  he  clapped  it  on  his  head, 
bowed  and  disappeared,  leaving  me  his 
card.  He  hadn't  been  gone  two  minutes 
when  I  discovered  that  the  hat  he  had 
exchanged  for  the  stovepipe  was  not 
mine.  It  came  from  the  same  firm,  but 
the  initials  proved  it  without  doubt  to 
belong  to  the  young  fellow  I  had  met 
at  the  table.  I  said  some  uncompli 
mentary  things.  Where  the  deuce  <was 
my  hat?  Evidently  the  benevolent  old 
18 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

gentleman  hadn't  discovered  his  mis 
take  yet. 

Ting-a-ling!  It  was  the  boy's  bell 
again. 

"Well?" 

"Another  man  after  a  hat.  What's 
goin'  on?" 

"Send  him  upl"  I  yelled.  It  came 
over  me  that  the  Frenchman  had  made 
a  second  mistake. 

I  was  not  disappointed  this  time  in 
my  visitor.  It  was  the  benevolent  old 
gentleman.  Evidently  he  had  not  lo 
cated  his  hat  either,  and  might  not  for 
some  time  to  come.  I  began  to  believe 
that  I  had  carelessly  given  it  to  the 
Frenchman.  He  seemed  to  be  terribly 
excited. 

19 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"You  are  the  gentleman  who  occu 
pies  number  six?" 

"Yes,  sir.  This  is  my  apartment. 
You  have  come  in  regard  to  a  hat?" 

"Yes,  sir.  My  name  is  Chittenden. 
Our  hats  got  mixed  up  at  Martin's  this 
evening;  my  fault,  as  usual.  I  am  al 
ways  doing  something  absurd,  my 
memory  is  so  bad.  When  I  discovered 
my  mistake  I  was  calling  on  the  family 
of  a  client  with  whom  I  had  spent  most 
of  the  afternoon.  I  missed  some  valu 
able  papers,  legal  documents.  I  be 
lieved  as  usual  that  I  had  forgotten  to 
take  them  with  me.  They  were  no 
where  to  be  found  at  the  house.  My 
client  has  a  very  mischievous  son,  and 
it  seems  that  he  stuffed  the  papers  be- 
20 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT; 

hind  the  inside  band  of  my  hat.  With 
them  there  was  a  letter.  I  have  had  two 
very  great  scares.  A  great  deal  of  trou 
ble  would  ensue  if  the  papers  were  lost. 
I  just  telephoned  that  I  had  located  the 
hat."  He  laughed  pleasantly. 

Good  heavens!  here  was  a  howdy-do. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Chittenden,  there  has 
been  a  great  confusion,"  I  faltered.  "I 
had  your  hat,  but — but  you  have  come 
too  late." 

"Too  late?"  he  roared,  or  I  should 
say,  to  be  exact,  shouted. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  have  you  done  with  it?" 

"Not  five  minutes  ago  I  gave  it  to  a 
Frenchman,  who  seemed  to  recognize 
it  as  his.  It  was  the  Frenchman,  if  you 
21 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

will  remember,  who  sat  near  your  table 
in  the  cafe." 

"And  this  hat  isn't  yours,  then?" — 
helplessly. 

"This"  was  a  flat-brimmed  hat  of  the 
Paris  boulevards,  the  father  of  all 
stovepipe  hats,  dear  to  the  French 
man's  heart. 

"Candidly,  now,"  said  I  with  a  bit 
of  excusable  impatience,  "do  I  look 
like  a  man  who  would  wear  a  hat  like 
that?" 

He  surveyed  me  miserably  through 
his  eye-glasses. 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  you  do.  But 
what  in  the  world  am  I  to  do?"  He 
mopped  his  brow  in  the  ecstasy  of  an 
guish.  "The  hat  must  be  found.  The 
22 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

legal  papers  could  be  replaced,  but 
.  .  .  You  see,  sir,  that  boy  put  a  pri 
vate  letter  of  his  sister's  in  the  band  of 
that  hat,  and  it  must  be  recovered  at  all 
hazards." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

"But  what  shall  I  do?" 

"I  do  not  see  what  can  be  done  save 
for  you  to  leave  word  at  the  cafe.  The 
Frenchman  is  doubtless  a  frequenter, 
and  may  easily  be  found.  If  you  had 
come  a  few  moments  sooner  ..." 

With  a  gurgle  of  dismay  he  fled, 
leaving  me  with  a  half-finished  sen 
tence  hanging  on  my  lips  and  the 
Frenchman's  chapeau  hanging  on  my 
fingers.  And  my  hat;  where  was  my 
hat?  (I  may  as  well  add  here,  in 

23 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

parenthesis,  that  the  disrppearance  of 
my  eight-dollar  hat  still  remains  a 
mystery.  I  have  had  to  buy  a  new  one.) 

So  the  boy  had  put  a  letter  of  his 
sister's  in  the  band  of  the  hat,  I  mused. 
How  like  her  kid  brother!  It  seemed 
that  more  or  less  families  had  Toddy- 
One-Boys  to  look  after.  Pshaw!  what 
a  muddle  because  a  man  couldn't  keep 
his  thoughts  from  wool-gathering! 

Well,  here  I  had  two  hats,  neither  of 
which  was  mine.  I  could,  at  a  pinch, 
wear  the  opera-hat,  as  it  was  the  exact 
size  of  the  one  I  had  lost.  But  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  Frenchman's? 
.  .  .  Fool  that  I  was!  I  rushed  over 
to  the  table.  The  Frenchman  had  left 
his  card,  and  I  had  forgotten  all  about 

24 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

it.  And  I  hadn't  asked  the  benevolent 
old  gentleman  where  he  lived.  The 
Frenchman's  card  read :  "M.  de  Beau- 
sire,  No.  —  Washington  Place."  I  de 
cided  to  go  myself  to  the  address,  state 
the  matter  to  Monsieur  de  Beausire, 
and  rescue  the  letter.  I  knew  all  about 
these  Toddy-One-Boys,  and  I  might  be 
doing  some  girl  a  signal  service. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  closing 
on  to  ten.  So  I  reluctantly  got  into  my 
coat  again,  drew  on  a  top-coat,  and  put 
on  the  hat  that  fitted  me.  Probably  the 
girl  had  been  writing  some  fortunate 
fellow  a  love-letter.  No  gentleman  will 
ever  overlook  a  chance  to  do  a  favor 
for  a  young  girl  in  distress.  I  had 
scarcely  drawn  my  stick  from  the  um- 

25 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

brella-jar  when  the  bell  rang  once 
again. 

"Hello!"  I  called  down  the  tube. 
Why  couldn't  they  let  me  be? 

"Lady  wants  to  see  you,  sir." 

"A  lady!" 

"Yes,  sir.  A  real  lady;  1-a-d-y.  She 
says  she's  come  to  see  the  gentleman  in 
number  six  about  a  plug-hat.  What's 
the  graft,  anyway?" 

"A  plug-hat!" 

"Yes,  sir;  a  plug-hat.  She  seems  a 
bit  anxious.  Shall  I  send  her  up?  She's 
a  peach." 

"Yes,  send  her  up,"  I  answered 
feebly  enough. 

And  now  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
case!  I  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
26 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

my  brow  and  wondered  what  I  should 
say  to  her.  A  woman.  .  .  .  By  Jove! 
the  sister  of  the  mischievous  boy!  Old 
Chittenden  must  have  told  her  where 
he  had  gone,  and  as  he  hasn't  shown  up, 
she's  worried.  It  must  be  a  tremen 
dously  important  letter  to  cause  all  this 
hubbub.  So  I  laid  aside  my  hat  and 
waited,  tugging  and  gnawing  at  my 
mustache.  .  .  .  Had  the  Girl  acted 
reasonably  I  shouldn't  have  gone  to 
Martin's  that  night. 

How  easy  it  is  for  a  woman  to  hurt 
the  man  she  knows  is  in  love  with  her! 
And  the  Girl  had  hurt  me  more  than  I 
was  willing  to  confess  even  to  myself. 
She  had  implied  that  I  had  carelessly 
broken  an  engagement. 
27 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Soon  there  came  a  gentle  tapping. 
Certainly  the  young  woman  had  abun 
dant  pluck.  I  approached  the  door 
quickly,  and  flung  it  open. 

The  Girl  herself  stood  on  the  thresh 
old,  and  we  stared  at  each  other  with 
bewildered  eyes ! 


28 


II 

She  was  the  most  exquisite  creature 
in  all  the  wide  world;  and  here  she 
was,  within  reach  of  my  hungry  arms ! 

"You?"  she  cried,  stepping  back,  one 
hand  at  her  throat  and  the  other  against 
the  jamb  of  the  door. 

Dumb  as  ever  was  Lot's  wife  (after 
the  turning-point  in  her  career),  I 
stood  and  stared  and  admired.  A  wom 
an  would  instantly  have  noticed  the 
beauty  of  her  sables,  but  I  was  a  man  to 
whom  such  details  were  inconsequent. 

"I  did  not  expect   .    .    .    that  is,  only 

the    number    of    the    apartment   was 

given,"    she    stammered.     "I    ... " 

Then  her  slender  figure  straightened, 

29 


and  with  an  effort  she  subdued  the 
fright  and  dismay  which  had  evidently 
seized  her.  "Have  you  Mr.  Chitten- 
den's  hat?" 

"Mr.  Chittenden's  hat?"  I  repeated, 
with  a  tingling  in  my  throat  similar  to 
that  when  you  hit  your  elbow  smartly 
on  a  sharp  corner.  "Mr.  Chittenden's 
hat?" 

"Yes;  he  is  so  thoughtless  that  I 
dared  not  trust  him  to  search  for  it 
alone.  Have  you  got  it?" 

Heavens!  how  my  heart  beat  at  the 
sight  of  this  beautiful  being,  as  she 
stood  there,  palpitating  between  shame 
and  anxiety!  She  <was  beautiful;  and  I 
knew  instantly  that  I  loved  her  better 
than  anything  else  on  earth. 

30 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Mr.  Chittenden's  hat?"  I  continued, 
as  lucidly  as  a  trained  parrot  and  in 
tones  not  wholly  dissimilar. 

"Can't  you  say  anything  more  than 
that?" — impatiently. 

How  much  more  easily  a  woman  re 
covers  her  poise  than  a  man,  especially 
when  that  man  gives  himself  over  as 
tamely  as  I  did! 

"Was  it  your  letter  he  was  seeking?" 
I  cried,  all  eagerness  and  excitement 
as  this  one  sane  thought  entered  my 
head. 

"Did  he  tell  you  that  there  was  a  let 
ter  in  it?" — scornfully. 

"Yes," — guiltily.  Heaven  only 
knows  why  I  should  have  had  any  sense 
of  guilt. 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Give  it  to  me  at  once," — impera 
tively. 

"The  hat  or  the  letter?"  Truly,  I  did 
not  know  what  I  was  about.  Only  one 
thing  was  plain  to  my  confused  mind, 
and  that  was  the  knowledge  that  I 
wanted  to  put  my  arms  around  her  and 
carry  her  far,  far  away  from  Toddy- 
One-Boy. 

"Are  you  mad,  to  anger  me  in  this 
fashion?"  she  said,  balling  her  little 
gloved  hands  wrathfully.  Had  there 
been  real  lightning  in  her  eyes  I'd  have 
been  dead  this  long  while.  "Do  you 
dare  believe  that  I  knew  you  lived  in 
this  apartment?" 

"I    ...    haven't  the  hat." 

"You  dared  to  search  it?" — drawing 

32 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

herself  up  to  a  supreme  height,  which 
was  something  less  than  five-feet-two. 

I  became  angry,  and  somehow  found 
myself. 

"I  never  pry  into  other  people's  af 
fairs.  You  are  the  last  person  I  ex 
pected  to  see  this  night." 

"Will  you  answer  a  single  question? 
I  promise  not  to  intrude  further  upon 
your  time,  which,  doubtless,  is  very 
valuable.  Have  you  either  the  hat  or 
the  letter?" 

"Neither.  I  knew  nothing  about  any 
letter  till  Mr.  Chittenden  came.  But 
he  came  too  late." 

"Too  late?" — in  an  agonized  whis 
per. 

"Yes,  too  late.  I  had,  unfortunately, 

33 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

given  his  hat  to  another  gentleman  who 
made  a  trifling  mistake  in  thinking  it 
to  be  his  own."  Suddenly  my  manners 
returned  to  me.  "Will  you  come  in?" 

"Come  in?  No!  You  have  given  the 
hat  to  another  man?  A  trifling  mis 
take!  He  calls  it  a  trifling  mistake!" — 
addressing  the  heavens,  obscured 
though  they  were  by  the  thickness  of 
several  ceilings.  "Oh,  what  shall  I 
do?"  She  began  to  wring  her  hands, 
and  when  a  woman  does  that  what 
earthly  hope  is  there  for  the  man  who 
looks  on? 

"Don't  do  that!"  I  implored.  "I'll 
find  the  hat."  At  a  word  from  her,  for 
all  she  had  trampled  on  me,  I  would 
gladly  have  gone  to  Honolulu  in  search 

34 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

of  a  hat-pin.  "The  gentleman  left  me 
his  card.  With  your  permission  I  will 
go  at  once  in  search  of  him." 

"I  have  a  cab  outside.  Give  me  the 
address." 

"I  refuse  to  permit  you  to  go  alone." 

"You  have  absolutely  nothing  to  say 
in  regard  to  where  I  shall  or  shall  not 
go."  - 

"In  this  one  instance.  I  shall  with 
hold  the  address." 

How  her  eyes  blazed! 

"Oh,  it  is  easily  to  be  seen  that  you 
do  not  trust  me."  I  was  utterly  dis 
couraged. 

"I  did  not  imply  that,"  with  the  least 
bit  of  softening.    "Certainly  I  would 
trust  you.  But   ..." 
35 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

"Well?" — as  laughingly  as  I  could. 

"I  must  be  the  one  to  take  out  that 
letter," — decidedly. 

"I  offer  to  bring  you  the  hat  un 
touched,"  I  replied. 

"I  insist  on  going." 

"Very  well;  we  shall  go  together; 
under  no  other  circumstances.  This  is 
a  common  courtesy  that  I  would  show 
to  a  perfect  stranger." 

I  put  on  my  derby,  took  up  the 
Frenchman's  card  and  tile,  and  bowed 
her  gravely  into  the  main  hallway.  We 
did  not  speak  on  the  way  down  to  the 
street.  We  entered  the  cab  in  silence, 
and  went  rumbling  off  southwest. 
When  the  monotony  became  positively 
unbearable  I  spoke. 

36 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

"I  regret  to  force  myself  upon  you." 

No  reply. 

"It  must  be  a  very  important  letter." 

"To  no  one  but  myself," — with  ex 
treme  frigidity. 

"His  father  ought  to  wring  his 
neck," — thinking  of  Toddy-One-Boy. 

"Sir,  he  is  my  brother!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon."  It  seemed  that 
I  wasn't  getting  on  very  well. 

We  bumped  across  the  Broadway 
tracks.  Once  or  twice  our  shoulders 
touched,  and  the  thrill  I  experienced 
was  as  painful  as  it  was  rapturous. 
What  was  in  a  letter  that  she  should  go 
to  this  extreme  to  recall  it?  A  heat- 
flash  of  jealousy  went  over  me.  She  had 
written  to  some  other  fellow;  for  there 

37 


always  is  some  other  fellow,  hang  him! 
.  .  .  And  then  a  grand  idea  came  into 
my  erstwhile  stupid  head.  Here  she 
was,  alone  with  me  in  a  cab.  It  was  the 
opportunity  of  a  lifetime.  I  could  force 
her  to  listen  to  my  explanation. 

"I  received  your  note,"  I  began.  "It 
was  cruel  and  without  justice." 

Her  chin  went  up  a  degree. 

"The  worst  criminal  is  not  con 
demned  without  a  hearing,  and  I  have 
had  none." 

No  perceptible  movement. 

"We  are  none  of  us  infallible  in 
keeping  appointments.  We  are  liable 
to  make  mistakes  occasionally.  Had  I 
known  that  Tuesday  night  was  the 
night  of  the  dance  I'd  have  crossed  to 

38 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

Jersey  in  a  rowboat  but  what  I'd  have 
kept  my  engagement." 

The  chin  remained  precipitously  in 
clined. 

"I  am  poor,  and  the  case  involved 
some  of  my  bread  and  butter.  The  work 
was  done  at  ten,  and  even  then  I  did  not 
discover  that  I  had  in  any  way  affront 
ed  you.  I  had  it  down  in  my  note-book 
as  Wednesday  night." 

The  lips  above  the  chin  curled 
slightly. 

"You  see,"  I  went  on,  striving  to 
keep  my  voice  even-toned,  "my  uncle 
is  rich,  but  I  ask  no  odds  of  him.  I 
live  entirely  upon  what  I  earn  at  law. 
It's  the  only  way  I  can  maintain  my 
individuality,  my  self-respect  and  in- 

39 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

dependence.  My  uncle  has  often  ex 
pressed  his  desire  to  make  me  a  hand 
some  allowance,  but  what  would  be  the 
use  of  all  that  .  .  .  now?" — bit 
terly. 

The  chin  moved  a  little.  It  was  too 
dark  to  see  what  this  movement  ex 
pressed. 

"It  seems  that  I  am  only  a  very  un 
fortunate  fellow." 

"You  had  given  me  your  promise." 

"I  know  it." 

"Not  that  I  cared," — with  cat-like 
cruelty;  "but  I  lost  the  last  train  out 
while  waiting  for  you.  Not  even  a  note 
to  warn  me!  Not  the  slightest  chance 
to  find  an  escort!  When  a  man  gives  his 
promise  to  a  lady  it  does  not  seem  pos- 
40 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

sible  that  he  could  forget  it  ...  if 
he  cared  to  keep  it." 

"I  tell  you  honestly  that  I  mixed  the 
dates."  How  weak  my  excuses  seemed, 
now  that  they  had  passed  my  lips ! 

"You  are  sure  that  you  mixed  noth 
ing  else?" — ironically.  (She  afterward 
apologized  for  this.)  "It  appears  that 
it  would  have  been  better  to  come 
alone." 

"I  regret  I  did  not  give  you  the  ad 
dress." 

"It  is  not  too  late." 

"I  never  retreat  from  any  position  I 
have  taken." 

"Indeed?" 

Then  both  our  chins  assumed  an 
acute  angle  and  remained  thus.  When 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

a  woman  is  angry  she  is  about  as  reason 
able  as  a  frightened  horse ;  when  a  man 
is  angry  he  longs  to  hit  something  or 
smoke  a  cigar.  Imagine  my  predica 
ment! 

When  the  cab  reached  Washington 
Place  and  came  to  a  stand  I  spoke 
again. 

"Shall  I  take  the  hat  in,  or  will  you?" 
I  asked. 

"We  shall  go  together." 

Ah,  if  only  I  had  had  the  courage  to 
say:  "I  would  it  were  for  ever!"  But 
I  feared  that  it  wouldn't  take. 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  presently  a  maid 
opened  the  door. 

"Is  Monsieur  de  Beausire  in?"  I 
asked. 

42 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"No,  sir,  he  is  not,"  the  maid  an 
swered  civilly. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  may  be 
found?" 

"If  you  have  a  bill  you  may  leave  it," 
— frostily  and  with  sudden  suspicion. 

There  was  a  smothered  sound  from 
behind  me,  and  I  flushed  angrily. 

"I  am  not  a  bill-collector." 

"Oh;  it's  the  second  day  of  the 
month,  you  know.  I  thought  perhaps 
you  were." 

"He  has  in  his  possession  a  hat  which 
does  not  belong  to  him." 

"Good  gracious,  he  hasn't  been  steal 
ing?  I  don't  believe" — making  as 
though  to  shut  the  door. 

This  was  too  much,  and  I  laughed. 
43 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"No,  my  girl ;  he  hasn't  been  stealing. 
But,  being  absent-minded,  he  has  taken 
another  man's  hat,  and  I  am  bringing 
his  home  in  hopes  of  getting  the  one  he 
took  by  mistake." 

"Oh!"  And  the  maid  laughed 
shrilly. 

I  held  out  the  hat. 

"My  land!  that's  his  hat,  sure 
enough.  I  was  wondering  what  made 
him  look  so  funny  when  he  went  out." 

"Where  has  he  gone?"  came  sharply 
over  my  shoulder. 

"If  you  will  wait,"  said  the  maid 
good-naturedly,  "I  will  inquire." 

We  waited.  So  far  as  I  was  con 
cerned,  I  hoped  he  was  miles  away, 
and  that  we  might  go  on  riding  for 

44 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

hours  and  hours.  The  maid  returned 
soon. 

"He  has  gone  to  meet  the  French 
consul  at  Mouquin's." 

"Which  one?"  I  asked.  "There  are 
two,  one  down-  and  one  up-town." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  You  can 
leave  the  hat  and  your  card." 

"Thank  you;  \ve  shall  retain  the  hat. 
If  we  find  monsieur  he  will  need  it." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  maid  sympa 
thetically.  "He's  the  worst  man  you 
ever  saw  for  forgetting  things.  Some 
times  he  goes  right  by  the  house  and 
has  to  walk  back." 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  bothered  you," 
said  I ;  and  the  only  girl  in  the  world 
and  myself  reentered  the  cab. 

45 


"This  is  terrible!"  she  murmured  as 
we  drove  off. 

"It  might  be  worse,"  I  replied,  think 
ing  of  the  probable  long  ride  with  her: 
perhaps  the  last  I  should  ever  take! 

"How  could  it  be!" 

I  had  nothing  to  offer,  and  subsided 
for  a  space. 

"If  we  should  not  find  him!" 

"I'll  sit  on  his  front  steps  all  night 
.  .  .  Forgive  me  if  I  sound  flippant; 
but  I  mean  it."  Snow  was  in  the  air, 
and  I  considered  it  a  great  sacrifice  on 
my  part  to  sit  on  a  cold  stone  in  the 
small  morning  hours.  It  looks  flippant 
in  print,  too,  but  I  honestly  meant  it. 
"I  am  sorry.  You  are  in  great  trouble 
of  some  sort,  I  know;  and  there's  noth- 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

ing  in  the  world  I  would  not  do  to  save 
you  from  this  trouble.  Let  me  take  you 
home  and  continue  the  search  alone. 
I'll  find  him  if  I  have  to  search  the 
whole  town." 

"We  shall  continue  the  search  to 
gether," — wearily. 

What  had  she  written  to  this  other 
fellow?  Did  she  love  some  one  else  and 
was  she  afraid  that  I  might  learn  who 
it  was?  My  heart  became  as  lead  in  my 
bosom.  I  simply  could  not  lose  this 
charming  creature.  And  now,  how  was 
I  ever  to  win  her? 

It  was  not  far  up-town  to  the  restau 
rant,  and  we  made  good  time. 

"Would  you  know  him  if  you  saw 
him?"  she  asked  as  we  left  the  cab. 

47 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

"Not  the  least  doubt  of  it,"— confi 
dently. 

She  sighed,  and  together  we  entered 
the  restaurant.  It  was  full  of  theater 
going  people,  music  and  the  hum  of 
voices.  We  must  have  created  a  small 
sensation,  wandering  from  table  to 
table,  from  room  to  room,  the  girl  with 
a  look  of  dread  and  weariness  on  her 
face,  and  I  with  the  Frenchman's  hat 
grasped  firmly  in  my  hand  and  my 
brows  scowling.  If  I  hadn't  been  in 
love  it  would  have  been  a  fine  comedy. 
Once  I  surprised  her  looking  toward 
the  corner  table  near  the  orchestra. 
How  many  joyous  Sunday  dinners  we 
had  had  there!  Heigh-ho! 

"Is  that  he?"  she  whispered,  clutch- 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

ing  my  arm  of  a  sudden,  her  gaze  di 
rected  to  a  near-by  table. 

I  looked  and  shook  my  head. 

"No ;  my  Frenchman  has  a  mustache 
and  a  goatee." 

Her  hand  dropped  listlessly.  I  con 
fess  to  the  thought  that  it  must  have 
been  very  trying  for  her.  What  a 
plucky  girl  she  was!  She  held  me  in 
contempt,  and  yet  she  clung  to  me,  pa 
tiently  and  unmurmuring.  And  I  had 
lost  her! 

"We  may  have  to  go  down-town. 
.  .  .  No!  as  I  live,  there  he  is  now!" 
— joyfully. 

"Where?"  There  was  half  a  sob  in 
her  throat. 

"The  table  by  the  short  flight  of  stairs 
49 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

.  .  .  the  man  just  lighting  the  ciga 
rette.  I'll  go  alone." 

"But  I  can  not  stand  here  alone  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  ..." 

I  called  a  waiter.  "Give  this  lady  a 
chair  for  a  moment;"  and  I  dropped  a 
coin  in  his  palm.  He  bowed,  and  beck 
oned  for  her  to  follow.  .  .  .  Women 
are  always  writing  fool  things,  and  then 
moving  Heaven  and  earth  to  recall 
them. 

"Monsieur  de  Beausire?"  I  said  in 
quiringly. 

Beausire  glanced  up. 

"Oh,  eet  ees  .  .  .  I  forget  zee 
name?" 

I  told  him. 

"I  am  delight' !"  he  cried  joyfully,  as 
50 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

if  he  had  known  me  all  my  life.  "Zee 
chair;  be  seat'  ..." 

"Thank  you,  but  it's  about  the  hats." 

"Hats?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  that  the  hat  I  gave 
you  belongs  to.  another  man.  In  your 
haste  you  did  not  notice  the  mistake. 
This  is  your  hat," — producing  the  shin 
ing  tile. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  gasped,  seizing  the 
hat;  "eet  ees  mine!  See!  I  bring  heem 
from  France;  zee  now,  ees  mine.  Via! 
And  I  nevaire  look  in  zee  uzzer  hat!  I 
am  pair-ftckly  dumfound'!"  And  his 
astonishment  was  genuine. 

"Where  is  the  other  hat:  the  one  I 
gave  you?"  I  was  in  a  great  hurry. 

"I  have  heem  here,"  reaching  to  the 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

vacant  chair  at  his  side,  while  the 
French  consul  eyed  us  both  with  some 
suspicion.  We  might  be  lunatics.  Beau- 
sire  handed  me  the  benevolent  old  gen 
tleman's  hat,  and  the  burden  dropped 
from  my  shoulders.  "Eet  ees  such  a 
meestake!  I  laugh;  eh?"  He  shook 
with  merriment.  "I  wear  two  hats  and 
not  know  zee  meestake!" 

I  thanked  him  and  made  oft  as  grace 
fully  as  I  could.  The  girl  rose  as  she 
saw  me  returning.  When  I  reached  her 
side  she  was  standing  with  her  slender 
body  inclined  toward  me.  She  stretched 
forth  a  hand  and  solemnly  I  gave  her 
Mr.  Chittenden's  hat.  I  wondered 
vaguely  if  anybody  was  looking  at  us, 
and,  if  so,  what  he  thought  of  us. 

5* 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

The  girl  pulled  the  hat  literally  in 
side  out  in  her  eagerness;  but  her 
gloved  fingers  trembled  so  that  the  pre 
cious  letter  fluttered  to  the  floor.  We 
both  stooped,  but  I  was  quicker.  It 
was  no  attempt  on  my  part  to  see  the 
address;  my  act  was  one  of  common 
politeness.  But  I  could  not  help  seeing 
the  name.  It  was  my  own ! 

"Give  it  to  me!"  she  cried  breath 
lessly. 

I  did  so.  I  was  not,  at  that  particular 
moment,  capable  of  doing  anything 
else.  I  was  too  bewildered.  My  own 

to 

name!  She  turned,  hugging  the  hat,  the 
legal  documents  and  the  letter,  and  hur 
ried  down  the  main  stairs,  I  at  her 
heels. 

53 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Tell  the  driver  my  address;  I  can 
return  alone." 

"I  can  not  permit  that,"  I  objected 
decidedly.  "The  driver  is  a  stranger  to 
us  both.  I  insist  on  seeing  you  to  the 
door;  after  that  you  may  rest  assured 
that  I  shall  no  longer  inflict  upon  you 
my  presence,  odious  as  it  doubtless  is 
to  you." 

As  she  was  already  in  the  cab  and 
could  not  get  out  without  aid,  I  climbed 
in  beside  her  and  called  the  street  and 
number  to  the  driver. 

"Legally  the  letter  is  mine;  it  is  ad 
dressed  to  me,  and  had  passed  out  of 
your  keeping." 

"You  shall  never,  never  have  it!" — 
vehemently. 

54 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should,"  I 
replied;  "for  I  vaguely  understand." 

I  saw  that  it  was  all  over.  There  was 
now  no  reason  why  I  should  not  speak 
my  mind  fully. 

"I  can  understand  without  reading. 
You  realized  that  your  note  was  cruel 
and  unlike  anything  you  had  done,  and 
your  good  heart  compelled  you  to  write 
an  apology;  but  your  pride  got  the  bet 
ter  of  you,  and  upon  second  thought 
you  concluded  to  let  the  unmerited 
hurt  go  on." 

"Will  you  kindly  stop  the  driver,  or 
shall  I?" 

"Does  truth  annoy  you?" 

"I  decline  to  discuss  truth  with  you. 
Will  you  stop  the  driver?" 
55 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

"Not  until  we  reach  Seventy-first 
Street  West." 

"By  what  right—" 

"The  right  of  a  man  who  loves  you. 
There,  it  is  out,  and  my  pride  has  gone 
down  the  wind.  After  to-night  I  shall 
trouble  you  no  further.  But  every  man 
has  the  right  to  tell  one  woman  that  he 
loves  her ;  and  I  love  you.  I  loved  you 
the  moment  I  first  laid  eyes  on  you.  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  say  this  to  you  now 
because  I  perceive  how  futile  it  is. 
What  dreams  I  have  conjured  up  about 
you !  Poor  fool !  When  I  was  at  work 
your  face  was  always  crossing  the  page 
or  peering  up  from  the  margins.  I 
never  saw  a  fine  painting  that  I  did  not 
think  of  you,  or  heard  a  fine  piece  of 

$(> 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

music  that  I  did  not  think  of  your 
voice." 

There  was  a  long  interval  of  silence ; 
block  after  block  went  by.  I  never  once 
looked  at  her. 

"If  I  had  been  rich  I  should  have  put 
it  to  the  touch  some  time  ago;  but  my 
poverty  seems  to  have  been  fortunate; 
it  has  saved  me  a  refusal.  In  some  way 
I  have  mortally  offended  you;  how,  I 
can  not  imagine.  It  can  not  be  simply 
because  I  innocently  broke  an  engage 
ment." 

Then  she  spoke. 

"You  dined  after  the  theater  that 

night  with  a  comic-opera  singer.  You 

were  quite  at  liberty  to  do  so,  only  you 

might  have  done  me  the  honor  to  no- 

57 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

tify  me  that  you  had  made  your  choice 
of  entertainment." 

So  it  was  out!  Decidedly  it  was  all 
over  now.  I  never  could  explain  away 
the  mistake. 

"I  have  already  explained  to  you  my 
unfortunate  mistake.  There  was  and  is 
no  harm  that  I  can  see  in  dining  with 
a  woman  of  her  attainments.  But  I 
shall  put  up  no  defense.  You  have  con 
victed  me.  I  retract  nothing  I  have 
said.  I  do  love  you." 

I  was  very  sorry  for  myself. 

Cabby  drew  up.  I  alighted,  and  she 
silently  permitted  me  to  assist  her 
down.  I  expected  her  immediately  to 
mount  the  steps.  Instead,  she  hesitated, 
the  knuckle  of  a  forefinger  against  her 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

lips,  and  assumed  the  thoughtful  pose 
of  one  who  contemplates  two  courses. 

"Have  you  a  stamp?"  she  asked 
finally. 

"A  stamp?"— blankly. 

"Yes ;  a  postage-stamp." 

I  fumbled  in  my  pocket  and  found, 
luckily,  a  single  pink  square,  which  I 
gave  to  her.  She  moistened  it  with  the 
tip  of  her  tongue  and  .  .  .  stuck  it 
on  the  letter! 

"Now,  please,  drop  this  in  the  corner 
box  for  me,  and  take  this  hat  over  to 
Mr.  Chittenden's — Sixty-ninth." 

"What—" 

"Do  as  I  say,  or  I  shall  ask  you  to 
return  the  letter  to  me." 

I  rushed  off  toward  the  letter-box, 

59 


THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

drew  down  the  lid,  and  deposited  the 
letter — my  letter.  When  I  turned  she 
was  running  up  the  steps,  and  a  second 
later  she  had  disappeared. 

I  hadn't  been  so  happy  in  all  my  life  I 

Cabby  waited  at  the  curb. 

Suddenly  I  became  conscious  that  I 
was  holding  something  in  my  hand.  It 
was  the  benevolent  old  gentleman's 
stovepipe  hat! 

I  pushed  the  button :  pushed  it  good 
and  hard.  Presently  I  heard  a  window 
open  cautiously. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  a  querulous 
voice. 

"Mr.  Chittenden?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  here's  your  hat!"  I  cried. 
60 


THE  WRONG  COAT 

IF  it  hadn't  rained  at  Waterloo  Na 
poleon  might  not  have  sunk  to  the 
obscure  fame  of  a  cigar  label ;  if  Lot's 
wife  (whose  name,  at  this  particular 
moment,  I  fail  to  recollect)  hadn't 
looked  around,  many's  the  humorist 
who  would  be  shy  sundry  half  dollars; 
if  Ulysses  hadn't  met  Calypso,  Penel 
ope's  knitting  would  have  been  accom 
plished  in  a  reasonably  small  compass 
of  time:  thus,  if,  on  the  morning  of 
March  tenth,  a  blizzard  hadn't  romped 
in  from  the  Atlantic,  there  wouldn't 
have  been  any  wrong  coat.  The  day 
61 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

before  had  been  treacherously  warm 
and  springlike,  and  I  had  gone  about 
my  affairs  without  any  coat.  It  is  al 
ways  the  seemingly  infinitesimal  things 
that  count  heaviest  in  the  final  reckon 
ing. 

I  hadn't  gone  two  blocks  from  Mou- 
quin's  that  night,  when  I  noted  the  fact 
that  I  was  wearing  a  coat  that  did  not 
belong  to  me.  With  a  growl  I  turned 
around  and  went  back.  I  simply  wasted 
my  time;  my  coat  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  I  stormed  about,  sending  the 
waiters  jumping  all  over  the  restaurant, 
but  to  no  avail.  Finally  I  calmed  down 
and  admitted  that  it  was  all  my  own 
fault.  I  should  have  examined  the  coat 
when  I  shouldered  into  it.  So  I  left 
62 


THE    WRONG    COAT 

word  at  the  cashier's  desk  and  sought 
the  street  again. 

Doubtless  you  have  lost  a  coat  or  hat, 
in  your  time,  if  you  who  read  happen 
to  be  a  man.  It  is  curious,  but,  no  mat 
ter  how  much  you  are  bettered  in  the 
exchange,  you  raise  a  howl, — you  make 
the  echoes  ache  with  your  lamentations. 
There  is  nothing  on  earth  you  want 
save  your  own  coat  and  hat.  To  be 
sure,  if,  in  the  pockets  of  the  wrong 
coat,  there  happen  to  be  several  thou 
sand  dollars,  your  howl  is  modified  and 
innocuous,  and  you  go  at  once  to  look 
for  the  other  fellow, — perhaps.  But,  as 
in  this  instance  there  were  only  thirty- 
five  cents,  a  canceled  railroad  ticket, 
and  a  scattering  of  cloves  and  tabloids 

63 


THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

for  the  breath,  my  cries  were  heard 
afar.  Hang  all  absent-minded  duffers, 
myself  included,  whose  wits  go  wool 
gathering  at  bad  times!  The  coat  was 
just  like  mine,  a  light  gray  winter  pad 
dock,  lined  with  heavy  satin.  The  only 
difference  lay  in  the  sleeves :  these  had 
small-change  pockets,  whereas  mine 
had  none.  It  was  even  exchange  and  no 
robbery,  but  I  was  none  the  less  angry. 
The  truth  is,  it  was  just  after  the  first 
of  the  month  and  there  were  four  or 
five  unpaid  bills  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  my  coat.  (One  was  the  bill  for  the 
coat!)  So  I  climbed  the  stairs  to  the 
elevated  station  in  no  amiable  frame 
of  mind.  Well,  well;  it  really  did  not 
matter  if  the  gentleman  who  had  ap- 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

propriated  my  coat  learned  that  I  owed 
my  tailor.  To  owe  one's  tailor  as  long 
as  the  law  permits  is  quite  customary, 
— not  only  customary,  but  also  proper 
and  commendable.  The  other  bills 
were  for  cigars,  gloves,  and  hats;  that 
is  to  say,  of  no  great  importance. 

I  plumped  into  a  vacant  seat  and 
glowered  at  the  street  below.  It  had 
stopped  snowing  and  the  wind  had 
gone  down.  For  once  in  my  life  I  took 
no  interest  in  the  advertising  signs.  I 
wanted  my  coat,  and  for  all  I  knew  the 
man  who  had  it  might  stumble  under 
an  automobile  and  ruin  the  garment; 
and,  even  if  he  didn't  ruin  it,  it  would 
smell  tolerably  strong  of  gasolene.  I 
conjured  up  all  manner  of  catastrophes 

65 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

regarding  the  ultimate  end  of  my  coat 
The  other  fellow  might  be  burned  up 
in  it;  he  might  fall  down  a  greasy  ele 
vator  shaft  in  it;  he  might  even  be 
lugged  to  jail  in  it,  which  was  not  at 
all  unlikely,  the  cloves  and  tabloids 
speaking  not  very  well  of  his  habits. 
Was  there  ever  such  luck? 

Having  no  newspaper  with  which  to 
pass  away  the  time,  I  fell  once  more  to 
rummaging  the  wrong  coat.  As  I 
searched  the  pockets,  my  sense  of  guilt 
was  in  nowise  agitated.  Doubtless  the 
owner  was  at  that  moment  going 
through  the  pockets  of  my  coat.  Thus, 
honors  were  even.  But  I  found  nothing 
by  which  to  identify  my  man.  One's 
identity  can  not  be  established  by  means 
66 


THE    WRONG    COAT 

of  thirty-five  cents,  a  worthless  ticket, 
and  a  few  cloves.  A.  Conan  Doyle 
might  accomplish  such  a  feat,  but  I 
couldn't.  .  .  .  Hello!  What  was 
this?  From  the  handkerchief  pocket  I 
drew  forth  an  envelope;  but,  as  I 
glanced  at  it,  my  hopes  slumped.  The 
address  side  was  missing;  only  the  seal- 
ing-flaps  remained.  I  was  about  to  toss 
it  contemptuously  into  the  aisle,  when 
I  discovered  that  it  was  covered  with 
pencil  scribblings.  .  .  .  Merciful 
heavens!  I  held  the  thing  under  my 
very  nose  and  read,  with  horrified  eyes : 

"Girl  must  die  between  twelve  and 
one  o'clock. 
Chloroform, — 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Bow-window  at  side  unlatched, — 
enter  there. 

Safe  in  library.  Secure  will.  Leave 
by  front  door. 

Servants'  night  out. — Girl  alone." 

Mystery!  I  sat  up  straight  and 
breathed  quickly.  I  saw  it  all  very 
plainly.  Fate  had  thrust  this  coat  upon 
me;  Fate  had  given  me  a  mission;  I 
might  be  the  means  of  saving  the  girl's 
life.  I  was  an  amateur  detective,  after 
a  fashion,  and  more  than  once,  in  the 
old  newspaper  days,  I  had  succeeded 
where  the  police  had  failed. 

In  a  far  corner  of  the  envelope  was  a 
house  address.  Without  doubt  it  was 
the  very  house  in  which  this  murder 
68 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

was  to  be  committed.  I  glanced  at  my 
watch.  It  was  eleven  o'clock.  There 
was  plenty  of  time.  .  .  .  Or,  had  the 
crime  already  been  perpetrated?  I 
shuddered.  It  was  left  for  me  to  find 
out.  "Servants'  night  out,"  I  thought. 
This  might  or  might  not  be  servants' 
night  out.  In  any  event  I  should  have 
the  happiness  of  confounding  a  great 
rascal.  From  the  address  I  learned  that 
the  house  was  located  in  a  particularly 
aristocratic  part  of  the  West  Side.  But 
why  should  he  kill  the  girl?  Ha!  I 
had  it.  There  was  a  will.  No  doubt  she 
stood  between!  With  the  girl  dead,  the 
property  would  fall  to  him.  It  sounded 
like  a  play  at  the  Fourteenth  Street 
Theater;  but,  in  real  life,  the  melo- 

69 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

drama  is  closest  to  our  every-day  af 
fairs. 

I  at  once  determined  not  to  notify 
the  police ;  they  would  only  bungle  the 
matter  with  the  red  tape  of  delay.  I 
could  call  them  in  when  the  work  was 
over. 

And  to  think  that  this  ruffian's  taste 
in  overcoats  was  one  and  identical  with 
mine!  I  had  half  a  notion  to  tear  off 
the  coat,  only  it  would  have  attracted 
attention, — and,  besides,  it  was  cold. 

Some  men  would  have  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  permitted  the  thing 
to  go  on.  In  a  great  city  the  good 
Samaritan  is  usually  looked  upon  as  a 
meddler;  and,  besides,  every  one  has 
trouble  enough  of  his  own.  The  girl 
70 


THE    WRONG   COAT 

was  nothing  to  me ;  even  her  name  was 
unknown.  I  hoped,  however,  that  she 
was  beautiful  and  young.  My  duty  lay 
clear  enough.  It  was  possible  to  save  a 
human  being,  and  that  was  all  there 
was  to  the  matter.  Any  right-minded 
man  would  have  done  exactly  as  I  did, 
though  hardly  with  the  same  result. 
(This  is  not  to  say  that  I'm  not  right- 
minded,  however!)  If  I  should  save 
the  girl  from  her  persecutor,  I  should 
always  have  something  to  fall  back  on 
if  by  any  chance  I  myself  left  the 
straight  and  narrow  way.  To  save  a 
life  is  to  do  penance  for  many  sins. 

Putting  aside  all  flippant  moraliz 
ing,  it  was  an  adventure  such  as  in 
variably  appeals  to  me,  and  it  is  a 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

habit  of  mine  to  pursue  things  to  the 
end.  It  is  a  fine  and  noble  pursuit,  that 
of  research;  it  takes  courage  and  pa 
tience.  But  sometimes,  as  in  cases  like 
this  adventure  of  mine,  persons  lacking 
my  sense  of  the  romantic  are  called 
busybodies. 

I  do  not  recollect  what  street  it  was 
in  the  eighties  that  the  guard  bawled 
out,  but  it  was  near  enough  for  my  pur 
pose.  I  hurried  out  of  the  car  and 
down  the  steps  of  the  Elevated.  Every 
body  gets  in  the  way  of  a  man  in  a 
hurry;  so,  for  a  block  or  more,  the  time 
was  spent  in  making  apologies  to  gruff- 
tempered  persons.  They  would  get  in 
my  way,  and  they  'would  demand  what 
I  meant  by  not  looking  where  I  was  go- 
72 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

ing.  Finally  I  succeeded  in  ridding 
myself  of  the  crowds,  and  turned  into 
a  quiet  and  sober  street.  The  sign  on 
the  lamp-post  told  me  that  I  had 
arrived  on  the  scene.  It  was  twenty 
minutes  past  eleven.  Two  things  were 
possible:  either  the  girl  had  been  killed 
the  night  before  or  I  had  half  an  hour 
or  so  in  which  to  render  her  the  great 
est  possible  service. 

The  house  proved  to  be  a  fine  struc 
ture,  one  of  those  few  dwellings  in  the 
metropolis  that  boast  of  anything  like 
a  court  or  yard.  This  yard  was  at  the 
right  of  the  building,  and  was  more  a 
roadway  to  the  stables  in  the  rear  than 
anything  else.  Still,  I  may  stretch  it  a 
point  and  call  it  a  yard.  I  cast  a  hasty 

73 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

glance  about.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight. 
I  tried  one  of  the  gates.  It  was  un 
latched!  This  certainly  must  be  the 
night.  I  stole  up  the  roadway  cau 
tiously.  The  fact  that  I  left  some  fine 
tracks  in  the  snow  did  not  disturb  me. 
7  was  not  guilty  of  anything  wrong. 
Yes,  there  was  the  bow-window 
through  which  the  rascal  was  to  enter. 
There  would  be  a  surprise  in  store  for 
him.  A  subdued  light  shone  through 
the  half-closed  blinds.  Some  one  was 
awake;  doubtless  the  girl  herself,  read 
ing. 

Everything  was  working  out  nicely. 
I  would  even  save  her  any  real  annoy 
ance. 

I  tiptoed  back  to  the  gate,  and  was 

74 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

about  to  make  my  exit,  when  I  paused, 
horrified,  my  heart  in  my  mouth. 
Coming  airily  along  the  walk  was  a 
policeman.  He  was  whistling  popular 
Irish  melodies  and  swinging  his  night 
stick.  The  deuce!  Suppose  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  examine  the  gates?  I 
hid  behind  the  great  stone  gate-post, 
breathing  with  difficulty.  If  there  was 
anything  in  the  world  I  did  not  want 
to  happen,  it  was  to  be  arrested  in  this 
other  fellow's  coat!  Besides  the  police 
man  wouldn't  believe  a  word  I  said. 
He  would  hale  me  to  the  nearest  police 
station,  and  all  my  efforts  to  save  the 
girl  would  come  to  nothing. 

The  policeman  did  start  for  the  gate, 
but  a  cat-fight  across   the  street  dis- 

75 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

tracted  him  and  he  crossed  over  to 
break  up  the  conflict.  I  was  saved. 
After  a  reasonable  length  of  time,  I 
stole  forth.  It  was  a  close  shave. 

I  dare  say  that  I  have  omitted  the 
fact  that  I  am  young,  still  under  thirty, 
and  am  a  struggling  dramatist,  after 
having  been  a  struggling  poet,  into 
which  craft  I  had  drifted  after  having 
been  a  struggling  humorist.  The  main 
fault  of  my  want  of  success  I  lay  to  the 
fact  that  I  do  not  look  the  various  parts. 
As  a  dramatist,  I  lack  the  requisite  irri 
tability  of  temper;  as  a  poet,  I  have  not 
that  distinct  disregard  for  personal 
appearance  usually  considered  char 
acteristic;  as  a  humorist,  I  am  totally 
deficient  of  the  long,  cadaverous  and 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

dyspeptic  countenance  and  lusterless 
eye  of  the  typical  writer  of  funny  fan 
cies.  When  my  uncle  died  and  left  me 
a  comfortable  income,  Art  received  a 
staggering  blow,  from  which  it  is 
doubtful  she  will  ever  recover.  A 
spinster  aunt  insists  that  I  am  more 
than  ordinarily  agreeable  to  the  eye; 
but,  of  course,  blood  is  partial  to  blood. 
That  is  enough  for  the  present  of  what 
the  amiable  Thackeray  called  "first 
person,  singular,  perpendicular." 

When  once  more  in  the  street,  I 
boldly  approached  the  steps,  mounted 
slowly,  and  pushed  the  button.  If  a 
maid  or  a  footman  should  open  the 
door,  I  should  know  instantly  that  it 
was  not  servants'  night  off.  It  remained 

77 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

only  for  the  girl  herself  to  answer  my 
summons. 

This  she  did. 

I  remarked,  elsewhere,  that  I  hoped 
she  would  be  young  and  beautiful.  She 
was.  I  wasn't  exactly  expecting  such  a 
vision  of  loveliness.  Her  hair  was  like 
golden  cobwebs,  her  eyes  like  sap 
phires,  and  her  complexion  had  the 
shadowy  bloom  of  a  young  peach.  I 
stared,  standing  first  on  one  foot,  then 
on  the  other. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  rather  im 
patiently. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  she  had  been 
deeply  absorbed  in  the  book  she  held 
in  her  hand.  I  wondered  how  I  should 
begin  I 

78 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

"Well,  sir?" 

"Are  you  the  young  lady  of  the 
house?"  I  finally  summoned  up  the 
courage  to  ask. 

"Yes."  The  door  moved  perceptibly 
— toward  me. 

"I  have,  then,  something  of  vital  im 
portance  to  tell  you." 

"Call  to-morrow  morning,"  she  re 
plied  briefly.  The  door  continued  to 
move  in  my  direction. 

I  saw  that  I  must  act  quickly,  or  turn 
the  matter  over  to  the  police,  which  I 
was  exceedingly  loath  to  do. 

"It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  I 
said  determinedly. 

"Life  and  death?  Whose?"  she 
asked,  with  discouraging  brevity. 

79 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

Then  she  cried  suddenly:    "Has  any 
thing  happened  to  my  brother?" 

"Brother?  Not  that  I  know.  It  is 
you!" 

"What?"  She  inclined  toward  me, 
and  for  a  moment  the  door  ceased  to 
gravitate  outward. 

"You  possess  a  terrible  enemy,  known 
or  unknown." 

"An  enemy?  ...  I  haven't  the 
least  idea,  sir,  what  the  meaning  of  this 
hoax  can — " 

"Hoax!"  I  interrupted.  "It  isn't  a 
hoax;  it  is  frightfully  serious,  as  you 
will  soon  learn,  if  you  will  only  be  so 
kind  as  to  give  me  a  few  moments  of 
your  attention." 

There  spread  over  her  beautiful  face 
80 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

various  shades  of  amazement,  indigna 
tion,  and  fear.  Hoax!  It  was,  indeed, 
a  very  ungrateful  world.  Decidedly, 
this  time,  the  girl  meant  to  close  the 
door  in  my  face.  Resolutely,  I  shoul 
dered  past  her  into  the  hall! 

"How  dare  you?"  she  cried,  her 
wonderful  eyes  blazing  and  wrath  dye 
ing  her  cheeks.  "If  you  do  not  in 
stantly  go,  I  shall  call  for  help.  How 
dare  you?" 

"This  is  servants'  night  out,  and  your 
aunt  is  away,"  I  said,  intending  to  tell 
her  all  at  once. 

But  she  suddenly  drew  back  against 
the  wall  and  gazed  at  me  as  if  for  all 
the  world  I  resembled  the  uprising  of 
Jason's  dragon-teeth. 
81 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  in 
a  panting  whisper.  "There  isn't  a 
penny  in  the  house  1" 

Goodness!  if  the  girl  didn't  take  me 
for  a  burglar! 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  burglar?"  I 
gasped. 

"But,"— piteously. 

"I  am  simply  here  to  do  you  a  serv 
ice  ;  and  it  is  a  service." 

"There  are  no  jewels  save  these 
rings.  Take  them  and  go."  She 
stripped  her  fingers  and  held  the  rings 
toward  me. 

I  flushed  hotly.  "Will  you  do  me  the 

honor  to  listen  to  me?"  I  asked,  as 

calmly  as  I  could.    "Put  back  those 

rings;  otherwise  I  shall  regret  that  I 

82 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

took  it  upon  myself  to  befriend  you.  I 
am  not  a  burglar." 

She  complied,  but  the  terror  in  her 
eyes  subsided  none.  (I  learned  after 
ward  that  several  robberies  had 
recently  been  committed  in  the  neigh 
borhood.) 

"At  a  restaurant,  to-night,"  I  began, 
"I  got  another  man's  coat  by  mistake. 
In  a  pocket  of  this  coat  I  found  evi 
dence  that  a  terrible  crime  was  about 
to  be  perpetrated.  I  came  here  to  aid 
you." 

She  stared  at  me  wildly  and  fumbled 
her  rings. 

"You  have,"  I  continued,  "a  deadly 
enemy,  a  wretch  who  wishes  to  put  you 
out  of  the  way.  You  may  not  know  who 

83 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

he  is,  but  none  the  less  he  exists.  You 
stand  between  him  and  a  will.  It  is 
money,  the  greed  of  it,  that  brings  him 
like  a  wolf  to  your  door.  According  to 
my  information,  he  is  to  enter  here  be 
tween  the  hours  of  twelve  and  one, 
chloroform  you,  and  pilfer  the  safe. 
He  knows  the  habits  of  this  household 
well,  for  he  is  aware  that  on  this  night 
neither  your  aunt  nor  your  servants 
would  be  in." 

She  still  eyed  me  with  unchanging 
terror. 

"It  was  only  human  on  my  part,"  I 
went  on,  "to  make  known  to  you  what 
I  had  found." 

Suddenly  an  inexplicable  change 
came  over  her. 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

'"Yes,  yes;  I  see,  I  understand  I 
Thank  you!  Oh,  thank  you!"  hyster 
ically.  "Come  into  the  drawing-room 
and  sit  down.  I  have  been  dreading 
this  moment  for  months !" 

Dreading  it  for  months?  And  yet 
she  remained  alone  in  this  big  house? 
I  was  vastly  puzzled;  but  I  followed 
her  into  the  drawing-room  and  sat 
down,  waiting  for  a  further  explana 
tion  on  her  part.  She  was  a  rarely 
beautiful  creature,  and  the  idea  that 
any  man  could  harbor  thoughts  against 
this  exquisite  life  filled  my  soul  with 
horror. 

"The  will  is  in  the  safe,  but  the  safe 
is  in  the  library.  Wait  till  I  go  and  see 
if  the  papers  are  intact."  She  hurried 

85 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

from  the  room,  leaving  me  with  a  sense 
of  utter  bewilderment.  There  was 
something  about  her  present  actions 
that  I  could  not  understand.  She  was 
gone  fully  five  minutes.  When  she  re 
turned  she  was  very  pale,  but  all  her 
agitation  was  gone  or  suppressed. 
"The  will  is  there ;  nothing,  as  yet,  has 
been  disturbed.  Tell  me  all  you  know," 
— looking  anxiously  at  the  clock,  the 
hands  of  which  were  now  close  upon 
midnight. 

I  reviewed  the  whole  affair. 

"Yes,  I  have  a  terrible  enemy,  who 
seeks  my  life  at  every  turn," — her  slen 
der  fingers  snarling  and  unsnarling. 

I    nodded   comprehensively.     "You 
ought  never  to  be  alone,"  I  said. 
86 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

"I  realize  that.  This  will  .  .  . 
leaves  me  untold  mining  property. 
...  To  my  horror  I  must  confess 
that  this  man  is  a  near  relative." 

"Your  brother?"  I  whispered. 

"Heavens,  no!  A  cousin;  yes,  that  is 
it,  a  cousin.  I  live  from  day  to  day  in 
constant  misery." 

"Frightful!" 

"Is  it  not?  And  I  am  so  young!" 
Then  she  proceeded  to  tell  me  what  I 
believed  to  be  the  family  history.  It 
was  marvelously  complicated. 

"It  seems  incredible,"  I  observed; 
"yet  we  read  of  like  tales  every  day  in 
the  newspapers." 

"And  no  words  of  mine  can  express 
my  thanks  to  you,  sir.  You  have  put 

87 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

me  on  my  guard.  I  had  heard  that  my 
uncle — " 

"Uncle?" 

"Did  I  say  uncle?" — with  a  catchy 
sort  of  laugh.  "I  meant  cousin.  I  was 
going  to  say  that  I  had  heard  he  had 
left  the  country." 

But  why  did  she  watch  me  so  close 
ly?  Every  move  I  made  caused  her  to 
start.  When  I  turned  down  the  collar 
of  the  other  fellow's  coat,  she  shud 
dered  ;  when  I  drew  off  my  gloves,  she 
paled;  when  I  folded  my  arms,  she  sent 
a  terrified  glance  toward  the  door.  I 
could  not  make  any  sense  out  of  her  ac 
tions. 

"To  prove  the  manner  of  his  en 
trance,  let  me  see  if  the  bow-window  is 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

unlatched.  But  wait  I"  I  cried,  produc 
ing  the  frayed  envelope.  "Listen  to 
this  and  see  how  carefully  he  planned 
it,  the  rascal!"  I  then  read  to  her  the 
scribbling,  putting  careful  emphasis  on 
the  bow-window  and  servants*  night 
out.  "Now,  if  you  'do  not  mind,  I'll  try 
the  window." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  unlatched  I 

"You  see?"  I  cried  triumphantly. 

The  wild  look  returned  to  the  girl's 
eyes. 

"Let — let  me  see  that  paper!" — 
holding  one  hand  to  her  throat  while 
the  other  she  stretched  out  toward  me. 

I  gave  the  paper  to  her.  She  glanced 
at  it,  dropped  it,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Good  heavens!"  I  cried. 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Then  she  laughed  shrilly  and  hys 
terically. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"You  positively  came  here,  then,  to 
do  me  a  real  service ;  and  all  the  while 
I  have  been  thinking  that  you  were 


a » 


"What?" 

"A  lunatic!" — covering  her  face. 

"A  lunatic?"  I  was  absolutely  dum- 
founded. 

"Yes;  and  when  I  left  the  room  it 
was  simply  to  call  the  police.  The 
manner  of  your  entrance, — the  incred 
ible  thing  you  told  me, — sir,  there  is 
some  dreadful  mistake.  I  haven't  an 
enemy  in  the  whole  world.  There  is  no 
will  in  the  safe.  My  brother  and  I  live 
90 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

with  our  aunt,  who  owns  this  house. 
We  have  no  property  whatever.  What 
I  have  been  telling  you  was  in  the  effort 
to  keep  you  in  good  humor  till  the  po 
lice  arrived.  But  what  can  it  all  mean? 
It  is  simply  incredible." 

I  picked  up  the  envelope  and  stared 
at  it  stupidly.  "The  address  is  the 
same,"  I  said,  trying  to  find  something 
to  stand  on. 

"I  know  it;  that's  what  makes  it  so 
uncanny.  I  can  not  possibly  under 
stand.  Perhaps  the  police  can  untangle 
it." 

The  police!  I  saw  that  I  should 
have  to  give  a  good  account  of  myself 
when  the  police  arrived.  Where  did  I 
stand,  anyhow?  What  did  it  mean? 

9' 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

No  man  would  write  such  a  thing  for 
the  fun  of  it. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  I  awkwardly.  "I 
thought  I  was  doing  right.  Indeed,  I 
really  thought  so." 

"And  I  thank  you.  You  will  admit 
that  some  of  my  suspicions  were  ex 
cusable.  To  whom  am  I  indebted?" — 
graciously.  In  this  mood  she  was 
charming. 

I  told  her  my  name. 

She  looked  puzzled,  and  finally 
shook  her  head. 

"It  has  a  familiar  sound,  but  I  can 
not  place  it." 

"There  goes  the  bell,"  I  exclaimed. 
"It's  the  police, — come  for  the  luna 
tic!" 

92 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

The  girl  flew  to  the  door.  I  could 
easily  read  her  mind.  If  I  'was  a  bur 
glar  or  a  lunatic,  the  police  meant  pro 
tection  ;  in  case  my  errand  was  in  good 
faith,  there  would  still  be  the  police  to 
greet  the  mysterious  stranger. 

Presently  she  returned,  followed  by 
a  private  detective  and  two  policemen. 

"Is  this  the  fellow?"  asked  the  for 
mer,  scowling  at  me. 

The  girl  explained,  rather  incoher 
ently,  her  mistake.  Everybody  sat 
down.  It  was  quite  a  social  gathering, 
or  would  have  been  but  for  the  scrutiny 
of  the  police,  which  I  bore  none  too 
well.  From  all  sides  questions  came 
popping  at  me,  and  it  was  only  by  the 
use  of  the  telephone  connecting  my 

93 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

bachelor  quarters  that  I  succeeded  in 
establishing  my  identity.  The  frayed 
envelope  was  vastly  interesting  to  the 
police.  They  read  it  forward  and  back 
ward,  upside  down,  and  even  held  it 
close  to  the  fire  to  see  if  any  sympa 
thetic  ink  had  been  used  in  writing  it. 

"I  guess  Mr.  Carewe's  a  well-mean- 
in'  chap,  miss,"  volunteered  the  detect 
ive.  "But  this  matter  will  need  close 
attention.  It  looks  like  a  tough  propo 
sition."  He  began  to  ply  her  with  ques 
tions,  but  to  no  avail. 

During  the  examination  I  vaguely 
wondered  what  the  other  fellow  was 
doing  with  my  coat. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  half 
after  midnight. 

94 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done," 
said  the  detective;  "and  that's  to  turn 
out  the  lights  and  wait  for  the  blood 
thirsty  gent." 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  we 
five  sat  in  the  semi-darkness,  our  ears 
strained  to  catch  the  faintest  foreign 
sound.  Once  I  sneezed  suddenly,  and 
one  of  the  policemen  nearly  fell  out  of 
his  chair.  It  may  seem  funny  to  you 
who  read,  but  it  was  mighty  serious  to 
the  girl  and  myself.  The  suspense  was 
nerve-racking.  We  scarcely  dared 
breathe  naturally.  The  occasional 
slumping  of  the  coal  in  the  grate  was 
pregnant  with  terrors.  And  our  faces, 
seen  but  dimly,  were  drawn  and  tense 
with  the  silent  watching.  Every  eye 

95 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

was  directed  toward  the  baleful  win 
dow,  through  which,  at  any  moment, 
we  expected  to  see  a  man  crawl. 

"Shi"  The  detective  raised  a  warn 
ing  hand. 

On  the  stillness  of  the  night  there 
came  a  clicking  sound,  like  that  of  a 
key  being  inserted  in  a  lock.  Presently 
we  heard  the  hall  door  open  and  close. 
We  waited  in  agony,  or  at  least  I  did. 
Possibly  a  minute  passed,  and  then  we 
saw  the  figure  of  a  man  loom  in  the 
doorway.  We  saw  his  arm  extend 
toward  the  electric-light  button,  and 
instantly  the  room  became  brilliant 
with  light. 

The  young  man  blinked  at  us  ami  we 
blinked  at  him. 

96 


"If  you  move  a  step,"  said  the  'de 
tective  threateningly,  "I'll  plug  you 
full  o'  lead." 

"What  the  d—  ?"  began  the  new 
comer,  gazing  from  face  to  face. 

"Stop!"  cried  the  girl,  springing  to 
his  side;  "it  is  my  brother!" 

Her  brother!  I  looked  at  the  man 
with  indescribable  horror.  He  had  on 
my  coat!  And,  more  than  this,  he  was 
a  man  on  whose  honor  I  would  for 
merly  have  staked  my  life — Arthur 
Kellerd,  one  of  my  classmates  at  col 
lege.  And  this  exquisite  girl  was  his 
sister,  the  girl  I  had  always  been  want 
ing  to  meet! 

"Your  brother!"  cried  the  detective, 
taken  aback. 

97 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Yes,  her  brother,"  said  Kellerd 
amiably.  "Now,  what's  all  this  pother 
about,  anyhow?"  Here  he  chanced  to 
get  a  good  square  look  at  me.  "Hang 
me,  if  it  isn't  Dicky  Carewe! — and 
wearing  my  coat  I"  He  came  forward 
and  grasped  my  limp  hand  and 
pumped  it.  "If  you  only  knew  how 
I've  been  cursing  you!"  he  added, 
laughing. 

Then  everybody  began  to  talk  at 
once,  and  nobody  would  have  learned 
anything  had  not  the  detective  reso 
lutely  interfered.  He  thrust  the  frayed 
envelope  under  Kellerd's  nose. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  this?" 
he  demanded. 

Kellerd  scrutinized  it  for  a  moment, 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

and  then  began  to  laugh;  I  might  say 
that  he  roared. 

"I'm  askin'  you  if  you  know  any 
thing  about  it?"  repeated  the  detective 
coldly. 

"I  ought  to  know  all  about  it,"  an 
swered  Kellerd  finally;  "I  wrote  it  not 
four  days  ago." 

"Arthur!"  cried  the  girl,  her  voice 
full  of  shame,  horror,  anguish  and  re 
proach. 

"Come,  come,  Nancy;  it's  all  a  curi 
ous  mistake,  a  very  curious  mistake; 
and  you'll  all  readily  understand  why 
I  laughed,  when  I  explain." 

"A  joke,  eh?"  said  the  detective. 
"Perhaps  you  can  explain  it,  and  per 
haps  you  can't," — truculently. 

99 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Easily.  You  have  doubtless  heard 
of  Norman  Douglas,"  he  began. 

The  police  shook  their  heads,  but  the 
girl  and  I  looked  interested. 

"Douglas  is  the  fellow  who's  writing 

* 

all  those  queer  detective  yarns  for  the 
magazines,"  said  I. 

"Well,"  said  Kellerd,  "I've  been 
trying  to  keep  it  dark,  but  here's  where 
I  must  confess.  I'm  Douglas,  and  that 
slip  of  paper  represents  the  climax  to 
a  chapter  in  a  new  story.  Come  into 
the  library,  gentlemen." 

We  followed  soberly,  even  foolishly. 
Kellerd  drew  out  from  a  drawer  in  his 
desk  a  bundle  of  manuscript,  and  the 
paragraph  he  read  aloud  coincided 
with  the  writing  on  the  envelope. 
100 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

"Well,  I'm  jiggered!"  breathed  the 
detective  heavily. 

I  looked  around  for  a  hole  to  crawl 
into,  but  there  wasn't  any. 

"Your  sister  notified  us  that  a  lunatic 
was  at  large  and  had  forcibly  entered 
the  house,"  said  the  detective,  perfectly 
willing  to  cast  all  the  odium  on  my 
shoulders.  (I  could  have  throttled  him 
with  joy  in  my  heart!) 

"A  lunatic?"  roared  Kellerd.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  he  was  going  to  die 
of  suffocation,  and  if  he  had  I  should 
not  have  been  sorry  at  that  moment. 
To  have  made  an  ass  of  myself  before 
the  prettiest  girl  I  had  ever  laid  eyes 
on! 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  said  the  girl. 
101 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Never  you  mind,"  I  replied.  "Some 
day  I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  tabloids 
for  the  breath  I  found  in  Arthur's 
coat." 

A  short  time  after,  the  policemen 
solemnly  filed  out  into  the  hall  and  into 
the  street;  and,  not  being  in  a  strictly 
amiable  frame  of  mind,  I  started  to 
follow. 

"Oh,  hang  it,  now,  Dicky!"  cried 
Kellerd;  "a  man  who  used  to  be  a  pro 
fessional  joke-writer  ought  not  to  har 
bor  any  ill  feelings.  Have  a  cigar?" 

I  shook  my  head.  I  had  an  idea  that 
I  wanted  to  utilize. 

"But  I  want  you  to  meet  my  sister." 

"I  am  delighted," — bowing  rather 
stiffly. 

'102 


THE   WRONG   COAT 

"But  you're  not  going  off  with  my 
coat  again!" 

I  flushed,  and  shook  the  erstwhile 
evil  garment  from  my  shoulders. 

"Not  just  a  friendly  cigar?"  pleaded 
Kellerd. 

"Nary  a  one." 

The  girl  approached  shyly  and 
touched  my  arm.  (This  was  my  idea.) 

"Not  even  a  cup  of  chocolate, — if  I 
make  it?" 

"Oh,"  said  I,  "that's  altogether  a 
different  matter." 

Subsequent  events  proved  that  it  was. 


A  NIGHT'S   ENCHANT 
MENT 

SO  much  depended  on  every  one's 
utter  lack  of  nervousness  and  em 
barrassment  that  Shaw,  the  stage  man 
ager,  decided  my  presence  at  the  final 
rehearsal  would  only  add  to  the  ten 
sion,  and  was  therefore  unnecessary. 
The  "star"  complained  that  her  efforts 
to  interpret  my  lines  to  my  satisfaction 
were  wearing  her  thin,  while  the  "lead 
ing  man"  declared  that  he  could  not 
enter  naturally  into  the  spirit  of  the 
105 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

comedy  so  long  as  he  knew  I  was 
watching  from  across  the  front. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  not  unagree 
able.  There  were  many  things  I  wanted 
to  change,  and  I  knew  that  if  I  once 
got  headway  I  should  have  to  write  the 
play  all  over;  and  that  was  not  in  the 
contract.  My  room  was  better  than  my 
company.  So  Shaw  gave  me  a  card  to 
The  Players  and  left  me  there  in  the 
care  of  a  distinguished  fellow  dram 
atist. 

We  had  a  capital  dinner,  an'd  our 
exchange  of  experiences  would  have 
made  a  book  equal  in  length  to  Revela 
tion.  What  a  time  a  fellow  has  to  get  a 
manager  to  listen  to  a  better  play  than 
he  has  yet  produced!  I'm  afraid  that 
1 06 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

we  said  many  uncomplimentary  things 
about  actors  in  general  and  managers 
in  particular.  The  actor  always  has  his 
own  idea,  the  manager  has  his,  and  be 
tween  them  the  man  who  wrote  the 
play  is  pretty  well  knocked  about.  But 
when  the  play  is  produced  every  one's 
idea  proves  of  some  use,  so  I  find. 

In  spite  of  the  good  dinner  and  the 
interesting  conversation,  I  found  my 
self  glancing  constantly  at  my  watch  or 
at  the  clock,  thinking  that  at  such  and 
such  a  time  to-morrow  night  my  pup 
pets  would  be  uttering  such  and  such  a 
line,  perhaps  as  I  wanted  them  to  utter 
it,  perhaps  as  they  wanted  to  utter  it. 
It  did  not  matter  that  I  had  written  two 
successful  novels  and  a  popular  com- 
107 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

edy;  I  was  still  subject  to  spells  of 
diffidence  and  greenness.  Much  de 
pended  upon  this  second  effort;  it 
was,  or  it  was  not,  to  establish  me  in 
New  York  as  a  playwright  of  the  first 

order. 

i 

I  played  a  game  of  billiards  indif 
ferently  well,  peered  into  Booth's  room 
and  evoked  his  kindly  spirit  to  watch 
over  my  future,  smoked  incessantly, 
and  waited  impatiently  for  Shaw's 
promised  telephone  call.  The  call  came 
at  ten-thirty,  and  Shaw  said  that  three 
acts  had  gone  off  superbly  and  that 
everything  pointed  to  a  big  success. 
My  spirits  rose  wonderfully.  I  had  as 
yet  never  experienced  the  thrill  of  a 
curtain  call,  my  first  play  having  been 
108 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

produced  while  I  was  abroad.  If  they 
called  me  before  the  curtain  my  cup 
would  be  full ;  there  would  be  nothing 
left  in  the  world  but  to  make  money, 
all  other  thrills  having  come  and  de 
parted.  All  at  once  I  determined  to 
run  up-town  to  the  theater  and  steal  in 
to  see  the  last  act.  So  I  called  for  my 
hat  and  coat,  apologized  to  my  friend, 
and  went  forth  into  the  night — and 
romance! 

Gramercy  Park  is  always  still  at 
night,  quiet  even  in  the  very  heart  of 
turmoil.  Only  an  indefinable  murmur 
drifted  over  from  the  crowded  life  of 
Broadway.  I  was  conning  some  lines  I 
thought  fine,  epigrams  and  fragmen 
tary  philosophy. 

109 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Hurry!  We  have  only  half  an 
hour!" 

The  voice,  soft  and  musical,  broke 
the  silence  ere  my  foot  had  left  the  last 
step.  Amazed,  I  looked  in  the  direc 
tion  whence  came  this  symphony  of  vo 
cal  allurement.  A  handsome  coupe, 
with  groom  and  footman,  stood  at  the 
curb.  A  woman  in  evening  gown 
leaned  out.  I  stopped  and  stared.  The 
footman  at  the  door  touched  his  hat.  I 
gazed  over  my  shoulder  to  see  if  any 
one  had  come  out  of  the  club  at  the 
same  time  that  I  had.  I  was  alone. 

"Hurry!  I  have  waited  at  least  half 
an  hour.  We  haven't  a  moment  to 
waste." 

Some  one  in  the  upper  rooms  of  the 
no 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

club  lifted  a  shade  to  open  a  window, 
and  the  light  illuminated  her  features. 
She  was  young  and  very  handsome.  A 
French  wit  once  said  that  the  whisper 
of  a  beautiful  woman  can  be  heard 
farther  than  the  loudest  call  of  duty. 
Now,  I  honestly  confess  that  if  she  had 
been  homely,  or  even  moderately  good- 
looking,  I  should  have  politely  ex 
plained  to  her  that  she  had  made  a 
peculiar  mistake.  I  was  somebody  else. 
As  it  was,  with  scarce  any  hesitation  I 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  the  foot 
man  closed  the  door.  To  this  day  I  can 
not  analyze  the  impulse  that  led  me 
into  that  carriage :  Fate  in  the  guise  of 
mischief,  Destiny  in  motley  and  out  for 
a  lark,  I  know  not  which,  nor  care, 
in 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  wait 
ing,"  said  I. 

"I  thought  you  would  never  come," 
she  answered. 

Thought  I  would  never  come?  The 
coupe  started  off  at  a  rate  likely  to 
bring  us  under  the  vigilant  eyes  of  the 
police.  We  pared  the  corner  neatly 
and  swung  into  Broadway,  going  up 
town.  The  theaters  were  emptying, 
and  here  and  there  the  way  was  choked 
with  struggling  cabs;  but  our  driver 
knew  his  business,  and  we  were  never 
'delayed  more  than  a  moment.  Not 
another  word  was  spoken  until  we 
reached  Thirty-fourth  Street.  I  was 
silent  because  I  had  nothing  to  say. 

"One  after  another  they  came  out.  I 
112 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

thought  you  would  never,  never  come. 
I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  go 
ing  into  the  club  after  you!"  She  tore 
off  her  long,  white  gloves  and  flung 
them  (savagely,  I  thought)  into  her 
lap. 

Going  into  the  club  after  me?  Heav 
ens!  What  a  scandal  I  had  escaped! 
What  the  deuce  was  it  all  about,  any 
way?  Who  was  I?  What  was  expected 
of  me?  My  nerve  lost  a  particle  of  its 
strength,  but  I  could  not  back  out  now. 
It  was  too  late.  I  was  in  for  some  sort 
of  excitement.  I  had  always  been  skep 
tical  about  mistaken  identity.  This  was 
to  be  my  conversion. 

"You  will  never  forgive  me,  I  know, 
for  waiting  outside  a  club  for  you." 

"3 


THE    ENCHANTED    HAT 

She  snuggled  over  to  her  side  of  the 
carriage. 

"Yes,  I  will!"  I  replied  with  alac 
rity.  Who  wouldn't  forgive  her?  I 
moved  closer. 

The  blue  light  of  the  arc-lamps 
flashed  into  the  window  at  frequent  in 
tervals.  Each  time  I  noted  her  face  as 
best  I  could.  It  was  as  beautifully  cut 
as  a  Cellini  cameo,  and  as  pale  as  ivory 
under  friction.  You  will  laugh.  "They 
are  always  beautiful,"  you  will  say. 
Well,  who  ever  heard  of  a  homely 
woman  going  a-venturing?  Besides,  as 
I  remarked,  it  wouldn't  have  been  an 
adventure  if  she  had  been  homely,  for 
I  shouldn't  have  entered  the  carriage. 
To  be  sure,  I  was  proving  myself  a  cad 
114 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

for  not  enlightening  her  as  to  her  error 
in  the  matter  of  identification;  but  I 
was  human  and  young,  and  rather  fond 
of  my  Stevenson,  and  this  had  all  the 
charm  and  quality  of  the  New  Arabian 
Nights. 

"It  is  all  so  terrible  I"  Her  voice  was 
tense;  there  was  a  note  of  agony  in  it 
that  was  real.  She  was  balling  her 
handkerchief,  and  I  could  see  that  her 
fingers  were  long  and  white  and  with 
out  jewels,  though  I  caught  the  inter 
mittent  glimmer  of  a  fine  necklace 
circling  an  adorable  throat.  What  a 
fine  chance  for  a  rascal! 

I  wondered  if  she  would  have  me 
arrested  when  she  found  out?  Was  I 
married,  single,  a  brother,  a  near 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

friend?  What  the  Heuce  was  her 
trouble?  Ought  I  to  kiss  her?  My 
double  was  a  fortunate  duffer.  How  I 
envied  him! 

"Women  are  so  silly  sometimes.  I 
do  not  know  why  I  was  dragged  into 
this,"  she  said. 

Dragged  into  what?  Had  a  crime 
been  committed,  or  had  some  one  run 
away  with  another  man's  wife?  Heav 
ens  I  we  might  be  eloping  and  I  not 
know  anything  about  it!  I  shivered, 
not  with  fear,  but  with  a  strange  ela 
tion. 

"How  could  I  have  done  it?  How 
could  I?  Terrible!" 

"It  must  be,"  I  admitted  readily. 
No,  a  woman  does  not  elope  in  her  ball- 
116 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

gown.  Perhaps  we  were  going  after 
the  trunks. 

"To  think  that  he  would  force  me 
into  a  thing  like  this !" — vehemently. 

"I  see  that  there  is  nothing  left  for 
me  to  do  but  to  punch  his  head."  I 
thought  I  was  getting  on  famously. 

She  gave  me  a  swift,  curious  glance. 

"Oh,  I  am  brave  enough,"  said  I.  I 
wondered  if  she  had  noticed  that  I  was 
a  passably  good-looking  man,  as  men 

go- 

"What  is  done  is  done," — wearily. 

"Retrospection  will  do  us  no  good." 
"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  I 

asked  presently. 
It   was    like   writing   a   composite 

novel,  no  one  knowing  what  the  other 
117 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

chapters  were  about.  I  had  already  for 
gotten  that  I  had  written  a  play  which 
was  to  be  produced  the  following 
night;  I  forgot  everything  but  the  po 
tent  charm  of  the  mystery  which  sat 
beside  me  and  which  I  was  determined 
to  unravel,  as  they  say  in  detective 
stories. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  I  re 
peated. 

"I  will  tell  you  when  the  time  comes. 
For  your  own  sake,  be  advised  by  me 
and  do  nothing  rash.  You  are  so  im 
pulsive." 

For  my  own  sake  do  nothing  rash :  I 

was  so  impulsive!  My  hand  wandered 

toward  the  door-latch,  and  fell.  No!  I 

would  stick  it  out,  whatever  happened. 

118 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"You  are  not  afraid,  are  you?"  she 
asked. 

"Afraid  of  what?" — adroitly. 

"I  was  right  in  waiting  for  you," — 
simply. 

Maybe;  that  remained  to  be  seen. 

We  crossed  under  the  Sixth  Avenue 
"L,"  and  the  roar  of  a  passing  train 
silenced  us  for  a  time.  Who  was  I,  any 
way?  Where  were  we  going?  Why 
didn't  she  call  me  by  some  first  name? 
So  far  she  hadn't. given  me  a  clue  to 
anything.  An  idea  came  to  me. 

"Are  you  wise  in  taking  me  there 
to-night?"  I  asked.  This  was  very  cun 
ning  of  me. 

She  coughed  slightly  and  peered 
from  the  window.  "Ten  blocks  more! 
119 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Oh,  if  only  we  dared  go  faster,  faster, 
and  have  it  all  over  with  I" 

"A  policeman  would  delay  us  no  in 
considerable  time,"  I  cautioned.  "And 
think  of  its  being  reported  in  the  pa 
pers!  That  wouldn't  help  matters. 
They  are  bad  enough  as  they  are." 
Doubtless  they  were  I 

She  said  nothing. 

"Courage,  courage!"  I  said;  "all  will 
end  well."  At  least  I  sincerely  hoped 
it  would  end  well.  I  reached  over  and 
touched  her  hand.  She  withdrew  that 
member  of  an  exquisite  anatomy  as  sud 
denly  as  if  my  touch  had  stung  her. 
Once  more  I  found  myself  in  a  maze. 
Evidently,  whoever  I  was,  I  did  not 
stand  on  such  terms  with  her  as  to  be 
120 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

allowed  the  happiness  of  holding  her 
hand.  And  I  had  almost  kissed  her! 

Then  a  horrible  thought  scorched 
me.  I  had  more  than  a  thousand  dol 
lars  in  my  wallet.  I  snuggled  over  to 
my  side  of  the  carriage.  The  newspa 
pers  were  teeming  with  stories  of  new 
bunko-games,  and  this  might  be  one  of 
the  classics  of  getting-rich-quick  on 
other  people's  money.  I  slyly  buttoned 
up  my  coat.  Anyhow,  it  was  chilly. 

On,  on  we  rolled;  light  after  light 
flashed  into  the  window,  gloom  fol 
lowed  gloom. 

More  than  a  thousand  dollars  was  a 

large  sum  for  an  author  to  be  carrying 

about;  and  if  the  exploit  turned  out  to 

be  a  police  affair  I  might  be  seriously 

121 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

questioned  as  to  how  an  author  came 
by  so  large  a  sum.  Yet,  as  I  thought  of 
her  necklace,  I  felt  my  cheeks  grow  red 
with  shame.  It's  so  hard  to  doubt  a 
beautiful  young  woman!  Still,  the  jew 
els  might  not  be  real.  There  were  many 
false  gems  in  New  York,  animate  and 
inanimate.  If  her  jewels  were  genuine, 
two  years'  royalties  would  not  have 
purchased  the  pear-shaped  pearl  pend 
ant  that  gleamed  at  her  throat.  If  she 
was  really  an  adventuress  she  was  of  a 
new  type,  and  worth  studying  from  the 
dramatist's  point  of  view.  Had  she 
really  mistaken  me?  Quite  accident 
ally  I  touched  her  cloak.  It  was  of 
Persian  lamb.  Hang  it,  adventuresses 
don't  go  around  in  Persian  lamb:  not 
122 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

in  New  York.  Ha!  I  had  it.  I  would 
find  out  what  she  was. 

I  leaned  over  quickly  and  kissed  her 
cheek.  There  was  not  a  sound,  only  I 
felt  her  shudder.  She  wiped  with  her 
handkerchief  the  spot  my  lips  had 
touched.  I  was  a  cad  and  a  wretch. 
When  she  did  speak  her  tones  were 
even  and  low. 

"I  did  not  quite  believe  that  of  you." 

"I  could  not  help  it!"  I  declared, 
ready  to  confess  that  I  was  an  im 
postor;  and  as  I  look  back  I  know  that 
I  told  the  truth  when  I  said  I  could  not 
help  it.  I  didn't  care  where  the  car 
riage  went,  nor  what  the  end  would  be. 

"And  I  trusted  you!"  The  reproach 
was  genuine. 

123 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

I  had  nothing  to  say.  My  edifice  of 
suspicions  had  suddenly  tumbled  about 
my  ears. 

"I  am  sorry;  I  have  acted  like  a  cad. 
I  am  one,"  I  said  finally. 

"I  was  helpless.  One  after  another 
the  men  we  trust  fail  us,"  she  answered 
despondently. 

"Madam,  I  am  a  wretch.  I  am  not 
the  gentleman  you  have  taken  me  for. 
I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  resemble 
another  gentleman." 

"I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my 
life,  nor  any  person  that  resembles 
you." 

I  gasped.  This  was  what  the  old 
dramatists  called  a  thunderbolt  from 
heaven.  I  felt  for  my  wallet;  it  was 
124 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

still  in  my  pocket.  Inconsistently,  I 
grew  angry. 

"Then,  what  the  devil— !" 

"Do  not  add  profanity  to  ill  man 
ners,"  she  interposed.  "Perhaps  I  have 
no  right  to  complain.  There  is  the 
door,  sir;  you  have  but  to  press  the  but 
ton,  stop  the  driver,  and  get  out.  I  am 
in  a  terribly  embarrassing  position  to 
night,  one  which  my  own  folly  has 
brought  me  to.  It  was  absolutely  neces 
sary  that  a  gentleman  should  accom 
pany  me  in  this  carriage  to  my  destina 
tion.  When  you  came  forth  from  your 
club — the  only  club  the  exact  location 
of  which  I  am  familiar  with — you  ap 
peared  to  be  a  gentleman,  one  I  could 
trust  to  accompany  me.  To  attract  your 
125 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

attention,  and  at  the  same  time  arouse 
your  curiosity,  I  had  to  resort  to  equiv 
ocal  methods.  It  is  an  adventure,  sir. 
Will  you  see  it  to  the  end,  or  shall  I 
press  the  button?"  She  seemed  really 
in  earnest. 

"Permit  me  to  ask  a  question  or 
two!"  I  was  mightily  confused  at  the 
turn  of  things. 

"Perfect  confidence  in  me,  or  I  shall 
open  the  door." 

"In  any  other  city  but  New  York — " 

"Yes  or  no !" — imperiously. 

"Hang  it,  madam!" 

Her  hand  went  toward  the  electric 
button. 

"To  the  end  of  the  world,  and  no 
questions  asked." 

126 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

Her  hand  dropped.  "Thank  you," — 
gently. 

"Curiosity  is  something  we  can't 
help ;  otherwise  I  should  not  be  here, 
ass  that  I  am!  Chivalry  isn't  all  dead. 
If  you  are  in  trouble  depend  upon  me; 
only  I  must  be  back  in  New  York  by 
to-morrow  night." 

"You  will  not  leave  the  city.  You 
have  no  fear?" 

"I  should  not  be  here  else." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  be  imagining  all 
sorts  of  terrible  things." 

"I  am  doing  some  thinking,  I'll  ad 
mit.  How  easily  a  woman  can  make  a 
fool  of  a  man!" 

"Sometimes." 

"I  am  a  shining  example:  How  you 
127 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

must  have  laughed  at  me!  A  pretty 
woman  has  more  power  over  a  man's 
destiny  than  all  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac 
put  together.  And  it's  perfectly  natural 
that  he  should  want  to  kiss  her.  Isn't 
it?" 

"I  am  not  a  man." 

"A  saint  would  have  tripped.  Put 
yourself  in  my  place — " 

"Thank  you;  I  am  perfectly  satis 
fied." 

"A  beautiful  woman  asks  me  to  en 
ter  her  carriage — " 

"And,  thinking  that  I  had  mistaken 
you  for  some  one  I  knew,  you  kissed 
me!" — derisively. 

"I  wished  to  learn  where  I  stood  in 
your  affections." 

128 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"A  very  interesting  method  of  pro 
cedure!" 

"And  when  I  touched  your  hand  you 
acted  as  if  mine  had  stung  you." 

"It  did." 

"There's  no  getting  around  that," — 
resignedly.  "Shall  I  tell  you  frankly 
what,  for  an  instant  or  two,  I  took  you 
to  be?" 

"If  it  will  relieve  your  mind." 

"Well,  I  believed  you  to  be  some 
classic  adventuress." 

"And  you  are  sure  I  am  not?" 

"Positive  now.  You  see,  I  have  con 
siderable  money  on  my  person." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wise  for  you  to  hand 
it  over  to  some  policeman  to  keep  for 
you  till  to-morrow?  Do  not  take  any 
129 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

unnecessary  risks.   You  do  not  dream 
into  what  I  am  leading  you." 

The  carriage  suddenly  stopped. 

"The  journey  is  at  an  end,"  she  said. 

"So  soon?" 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened, 
and  I  stepped  out  to  assist  her  to  alight. 
She  waved  me  aside.  We  stood  in  front 
of  some  millionaire's  palace.  It  was 
golden  with  illumination.  Was  it  a 
wedding  and  was  I  to  be  a  witness?  Or 
was  some  one  making  his  will?  Per 
haps  it  was  only  a  ball  or  a  reception. 
I  stopped  my  cogitations.  What  was 
the  use  asking  myself  questions?  I 
should  soon  know  all. 

"Follow  me,"  she  said,  as  she  lightly 
mounted  the  steps. 

130 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

I  followed.  .  .  .  'Here,  in  New 
York,  the  most  unromantic  city  in  all 
the  wide  world!  I  was  suddenly  seized 
with  nervousness  and  a  partial  failure 
of  the  cardiac  organs  to  perform  their 
usual  functions. 

She  turned  to  me.  "There  is  yet 
time." 

"Time  for  what?" 

"Time  to  run." 

"There  was  a  moment.  .  .  .  Lead 
on," — quietly.  I  thought  of  the  young 
man  with  the  cream  tarts. 

She  touched  a  bell,  and  the  door 
was  quickly  opened,  admitting  us 
into  the  hall.  A  servant  took  our  be 
longings. 

"Dinner  is  served,  miss,"  said  the 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

servant,  eying  me  curiously,  even  sus 
piciously. 

It  appeared  that  I  was  to  dine! 
What  the  deuce  did  it  all  mean?  A 
dinner  at  supper-time !  A  very  distress 
ing  thought  flashed  through  my  mind. 
Suppose  she  had  known  me  all  along, 
and  had  lured  me  here  to  witness  some 
amateur  performance.  I  shuddered.  I 
flattered  myself.  There  was  no  amateur 
performance,  as  presently  you  will  see. 
I  followed  her  into  the  dining-room. 
Fortunately,  I  was  in  evening  dress.  I 
should  at  least  be  presentable,  and  as 
cool  as  any  man  in  the  room.  Comedy 
or  tragedy,  or  whatever  it  was  going  to 
be,  I  determined  to  show  that  I  had 
good  blood  in  my  veins,  even  though 
132 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

I  had,  to  all  appearances,  been  played 
for  a  fool. 

Around  a  table  covered  with  ex 
quisite  linen,  silver  and  glass  sat  a  party 
of  elegantly  dressed  men  and  women. 
At  the  sight  of  us  the  guests  rose  con 
fusedly  and  made  toward  us  with  shouts 
of  laughter,  inquiry  and  admiration. 
They  gathered  round  my  companion 
and  plied  her  with  a  hundred  ques 
tions,  occasionally  stealing  a  glance  at 
me.  I  saw  at  once  that  I  stood  among 
a  party  of  ultra-smart  people.  Some 
how  I  felt  that  I  represented  a  part  in 
their  mad  pastimes. 

"Where  did  you  find  him?"  cried 
one. 

"Was  it  difficult?"  asked  another. 

133 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"I'll  wager  he  didn't  need  much  urg 
ing!"  roared  a  gentleman  with  a  rubi 
cund  nose. 

"He  is  positively  good-looking!" 
said  one  woman,  eying  me  boldly. 

I  bowed  ironically,  and  she  looked  at 
her  neighbor  as  if  to  say:  "Why,  the 
animal  understands  what  I  say!" 

"My  friends,"  said  the  girl,  waving 
her  hand  toward  me,  "I  have  paid  my 
detestable  forfeit."  Her  tones  did  not 
bespeak  any  particular  enjoyment. 

A  wager!  I  stood  alone,  my  face 
burning  with  chagrin.  I  could  feel  my 
ears  growing,  like  the  very  ass  that  I 
was.  A  wager! 

"To  table !"  cried  the  gentleman  with 
the  rubicund  nose.  Evidently  he  was 

134 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

host.  "We  must  have  the  story  in  full. 
It  certainly  must  be  worth  telling.  The 
girl  has  brought  home  a  gentleman, 
I'm  hanged  I" 

The  guests  resumed  their  chairs 
noisily. 

The  girl  faced  me,  and  for  a  space  it 
was  a  battle  of  the  eyes. 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honor?"  she 
said  half-mockingly,  nodding  toward 
the  only  vacant  chairs  at  the  table. 

"Would  it  not  be  wise  for  me  to  go 
at  once?"  I  asked  quietly. 

"If  you  do  not  sit  at  the  table  with 
me,  I  lose.  But  please  yourself," — 
wearily.  "It  has  all  been  very  distaste 
ful  to  me." 

"I  shall  stay  to  the  bitter  end.   My 

135 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

conceit  and  assurance  need  a  drub 
bing."  I  offered  her  my  arm.  All  eyes 
were  centered  on  us.  She  hesitated. 
"We  might  as  well  go  through  this  or 
deal  in  a  proper  spirit  and  manner,"  I 
said.  I  rather  believe  I  puzzled  her. 

She  flushed  slightly,  but  laid  her 
hand  on  my  arm,  and  together  we 
walked  over  to  the  vacant  chairs  and 
sat  down.  The  laughter  and  hum  of 
voices  ceased  instantly. 

In  faith,  I  was  becoming  amused. 
They  were  going  to  have  their  fun  with 
me ;  well,  two  could  play  at  that  game. 


136 


II 

The  host  rose,  and,  leaning  on  his 
finger-tips,  he  addressed  me:  "Sir,  all 
this  doubtless  strikes  you  as  rather  ex 
traordinary." 

"Very  extraordinary,"  I  replied. 

"To  dine  under  such  circumstances 
is  not  accorded  to  every  man." 

"To  which  do  you  refer:  the  honor 
or  the  modus  operandi?" 

"Both.  Now,  an  explanation  is  due 
you." 

"So  I  observe," — gravely. 

"The  pleasure  is  mine.  To  begin 
with,  permit  me  to  introduce  you  to  my 
guests."  One  by  one  he  named  them, 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  had  heard 

137 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

of  them  all.  Money  had  made  them 
famous.  "As  for  myself,  I  am  Daniel 
Ainsworth;  this  is  my  home.  I  dare 
say  you  have  heard  of  me." 

"I  have  won  money  on  your  horses, 
sir," — with  all  the  gravity  of  expres 
sion  I  found  possible  to  assume. 

My  remark  was  greeted  with  laugh 
ter. 

My  host,  composing  his  lips,  re 
sumed.  "And  now,  sir,  whom  have  I 
the  honor  to  address?" 

"I  am  the  author  of  many  a  famous 
poem," — tranquilly. 

"Ah!" 

"Yes;  anonymous.  Sir,  my  name 
would  mean  nothing  to  you  or  your 
guests:  I  am  poor." 

138 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

There  was  a  trace  of  admiration  in 
the  girl's  eyes  as  she  turned  her  head. 
"Besides,"  I  went  on,  "I  want  a  little 
revenge." 

"Good!"  bawled  my  host;  "good! 
You're  a  man  of  kidney,  sir.  A  gentle 
man  is  always  a  gentleman;  and  I  do 
not  need  to  look  at  you  twice,  sir,  to 
note  that  my  niece's  choice  has  been  a 
happy  one." 

"You  have  not  introduced  me  to 
your  niece,"  said  I,  "who  is,  next  to 
myself,  the  most  important  guest  at  the 
table." 

"Hang  me!  The  young  lady  at  your 
side  is  Miss  Helen  Berkeley,  the  best 
horsewoman  in  the  state,  if  I  do  say  so 
myself." 

139 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Great  applause,  as  they  say  in  the 
press  gallery.  I  looked  squarely  at  the 
girl,  but  she  was  idly  busy  turning  her 
empty  wine-glass  slowly  round  and 
round. 

"I  appreciate  the  honor,  sir,"  I  said; 
"but  now  will  you  favor  me  with  the 
modus  operandi,  or,  to  be  particular, 
the  reason  of  all  this  mystery?" 

"I  approach  that  at  once.  This  is 
leap  year,  as  you  will  recollect.  On 
January  first  I  gave  a  leap-year  party, 
and  in  the  spirit  of  fun  each  lady  pres 
ent  declared  her  intention  of  bringing 
to  a  series  of  late  dinners  a  gentleman 
whom  none  of  us  knew,  either  by  sight 
or  by  reputation.  He  was  to  be  lured 
into  a  carriage  by  some  story  or  other, 
140 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

and  was  not  to  know  the  true  state  of 
things  till  he  sat  at  the  table.  My  niece 
was  the  last  on  the  list.  Those  who 
backed  down  were  to  give  a  house- 
party  of  a  week's  length.  Women  de 
test  house-parties,  and  that  is  the  one 
reason  why  this  comedy  has  gone  down 
the  line  without  a  failure.  This  is  the 
eighth  dinner.  Each  lady  present  has 
fulfilled  her  obligation  to  the  year. 
We  have  had  some  curious  specimens 
of  humanity:  a  barber,  a  mild  lunatic, 
a  detective  who  thought  he  was  on  the 
trail  of  some  terrible  crime,  an  actor, 
a  political  reformer,  and  an  English 
groom  who  palmed  himself  off  as  a 
lord.  The  actor  and  yourself,  sir,  are 
the  only  men  who  seemed  to  possess  any 
141 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

knowledge  of  the  various  uses  of  din 
ner  forks." 

"You  haven't  seen  me  eat  yet,"  I  in 
terpolated.  All  this  was  highly  amus 
ing  to  me.  I  was  less  a  victim  than  a 
spectator. 

"You  will  do  us  the  honor  of  permit 
ting  us  to  criticize  your  knowledge  of 
the  forks,"  laughed  Ainsworth.  "Now, 
Nell,  tell  us  how  you  lured  Mr.  Anony 
mous  into  your  carriage." 

Very  quietly  she  recounted  the  tale. 
She  omitted  but  one  incident. 

"In  front  of  a  club!"  cried  the  ladies 
in  unison.  "Why  in  the  world  didn't 
we  think  of  that?" 

"Miss    Berkeley    has    omitted    one 
thing,"  said  I  maliciously. 
142 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"An'd,  pray,  what?"  aske'd  Miss 
Berkeley's  uncle. 

"Remember,"  she  whispered,  "you 
are  supposed  to  be  a  gentleman." 

I  took  umbrage  at  the  word  "sup 
posed." 

"Miss  Berkeley  must  tell  you  what 
she  has  omitted  in  the  course  of  her 
narrative." 

"And  I  refuse  to  tell." 

"Hang  it,  Nell,  I'll  wager  Mr. 
Anonymous  kissed  you  1"  cried  her  un 
cle. 

"Caught!"  cried  one  of  the  ladies. 

"Allow  me  a  word,"  I  interposed.  I 
was  already  sorry.  "There  was  a 
method  in  my  action  which  must  not  be 
misconstrued.  I  believed,  for  a  mo- 

H3 


ment,  that  Miss  Berkeley  might  be  a 
new  species  of  bunko-steerer.  If  she 
objected  noisily  to  my  salute  I  should 
find  my  case  proved;  if  she  cried,  I  was 
wrong." 

"And?" 

"She  did  neither.  She  rubbed  her 
cheek." 

"I'll  warrant  1"  my  host  bawled 
noisily.  "Oh,  this  is  rich!  A  bunko- 
steerer!" 

"Miss  Berkeley,"  I  whispered,  "we 
are  quits." 

"Not  yet," — ominously. 

It  was  almost  time  for  me  to  go ! 

"I  was  going  to  ask  your  pardon," 
said  the  uncle  in  his  hunter-voice;  "but 
I  think  you  have  been  paid  for  your 
144 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

trouble.  Is  there  anything  you  would 
like?" 

"Three  things,  sir." 

"And  these?"  he  asked,  while  every 
one  looked  curiously  at  me.  I  was  still 
an  unknown  quantity. 

"My  hat,  my  coat,  and  the  way  to  the 
door,  for  I  presume  you  have  no  fur 
ther  use  for  me." 

My  reply  appealed  to  the  guests  as 
monstrous  funny.  It  was  some  time  ere 
the  laughter  subsided.  My  host  seemed 
to  be  threatened  with  an  attack  of  apo 
plexy. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "I  beg  of  you 
to  remain,  not  as  a  source  for  our  mer 
riment,  but  as  the  chief  guest  of  honor. 
I  believe  you  have  won  that  place." 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

I  turned  to  Miss  Berkeley.  "Do  you 
bid  me  remain?" 

Silence. 

I  placed  my  hand  on  the  back  of  my 
chair,  preparatory  to  sliding  it  from 
under  me.  She  stayed  me. 

"Do  not  go," — softly.  "I  haven't 
had  my  revenge." 

I  sat  down.  I  was  curious  to  learn 
what  color  this  revenge  was  going  to 
take.  "Mr.  Ainsworth,  my  compli 
ments!" — raising  my  glass,  being  very 
careful  not  to  touch  the  contents. 

"Bully!"  cried  my  host,  thumping 
the  table  with  his  fist.  "James,  a  dozen 
bottles  of  '96.  There's  a  gentleman," — 
nodding  to  those  nearest  him;  "you  can 
tell  'em  a  mile  off.  A  little  shy  of 
146 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

strangers,"  humorously  falling  into 
horse-talk,  "but  he's  money  coming 
down  the  home-stretch." 

Then  everybody  began  to  talk  at 
once,  and  I  knew  that  the  dinner 
proper  was  on  the  way. 

"Aren't  you  just  a  little  above  such 
escapades  as  this?"  I  asked  of  the  girl. 

"Do  not  make  me  any  more  uncom 
fortable  than  I  am,"  she  begged.  "But 
having  gone  into  it  I  had  too  much 
courage  to  back  down." 

"The  true  courage  would  have  been 
to  give  the  house-party." 

"But  men  always  insist  upon  your 
marrying  them  at  house-parties." 

*"!  see  I  have  much  to  learn," — 
meekly.  "And  the  men  are  right." 

H7 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"What  an  escape  I  have  had!" 

"Meaning  house-parties,  or  that  I 
am  a  gentleman?" 

"If  you  had  not  been  a  gentleman! 
For,  of  course,  you  are,  since  my  uncle 
has  so  dubbed  you.  If  you  had  not  been 
a  gentleman!" 

"If  you  had  not  been  a  lady!  If  you 
had  been  a  bunko-steerer!  And  I  still 
do  not  know  that  you  are  not  one.  Do 
you  believe  me?  I  kept  my  hand  on  my 
wallet  pocket  nearly  all  the  time." 

"I  understood  you  to  say  that  you 
were  poor." 

"Oh,  I  mean  that  I  am  too  poor  to 
hunt  for  excitement  in  bizarre  things." 

"Confess  that  you  look  upon  me  with 
a  frank  contempt!" — imperiously. 
148 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"Never!" 

"That  in  your  secret  mind  you  write 
me  down  a  silly  fool." 

"Allow  me  to  quote  Dogberry — 
'Masters,  remember  that  I  am  an  ass; 
though  it  be  not  written  'down,  yet  for 
get  not  that  I  am  an  ass  1'  Thus,  I  may 
not  call  you  a  fool.  Besides,  it  would 
be  very  impolite." 

"You  neither  eat  nor  drink.  Why?" 

"I  demand  to  retain  some  of  my  self- 
respect." 

She  leaned  on  her  elbows,  her  chin 
in  her  palms.  She  had  wonderful  eyes, 
and  for  as  long  a  time  as  a  minute  these 
eyes  impaled  me  on  barbs  of  light. 
"You  must  think  us  a  pack  of  fools." 

"Oh,  indeed,  no;  only  rich." 
149 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"That  is  almost  an  epigram," — 
warningly.  "You  will  lead  me  to  be 
lieve  that  you  belong  to  smart  society 
in  some  provincial  town." 

"Heaven  forfend!" — earnestly. 

"But  speak  all  the  thought.  Nothing 
prevents  truth  from  either  of  us  to 
night." 

"All  of  what  thought?" 

'"We  are  not  fools,  only  rich." 

"Well,  I  lower  the  bucket,  then ;  and 
if  I  can  bring  truth  to  the  top  of  the 
well  you  will  promise  not  to  blush  on 
beholding  her?" 

"I  promise." 

"It  is  maddening  and  unhealthy  to 
be  rich  and  idle.  The  rich  and  idle  do 
such  impossible  things  in  the  wild  ef- 
150 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

fort  to  pass  away  the  dragging  hours. 
Society  is  not  made  up  of  fools :  rather 
knaves  and  madmen.  Money  and  idle 
ness  result  in  a  mild  attack  of  insanity." 

"Thanks." 

"You  are  welcome.  Shall  I  lower 
truth  along  with  the  butter  of  flattery?" 

"You  may  lower  the  butter  of  flat 
tery.  So  that  is  how  the  great  public 
looks  upon  us?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way;  while  it  envies  you." 

"I  have  always  been  rich.  What  is 
poverty  like?" 

"It  is  comparative." 

"It  must  be  horrid." 

"Poverty  is  ugly  only  when  man 
himself  is  the  cause  of  it." 

"Another  epigram.    I  have  always 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

been  under  my  uncle's  care," — with  the 
slightest  droop  of  the  lips. 

"Ah!  His  knowledge  begins  at  the 
table  and  ends  at  the  stable:  vintages 
and  horses.  If  a  woman  had  crossed  his 
path  he  would  have  been  a  great  man." 

"Poor  Uncle  Dan!  To  him  I  am  his 
favorite  filly,  and  he  has  put  huge  sums 
on  me  to  win  the  ducal  race.  Every 
body  says  that  I'm  to  marry  the  Duke 
of  Roxclift." 

"And  you?"  I  do  not  know  why  my 
heart  sank  a  little  as  I  hesitatingly  put 
this  question. 

"I?  Oh,  I'm  going  to  balk  at  the 
quarter  and  throw  the  race.  To-night, 
what  would  you  have  done  in  my 
place?" 

152 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"Hailed  a  gentleman  exactly  like 
myself." 

She  dallied  with  a  rose,  brushing  it 
across  her  lips.  "I  do  not  know  why  I 
desire  your  good  opinion.  Perhaps  it's 
the  novelty  of  sitting  beside  a  man  who 
does  not  believe  in  flattery." 

"Flattery  is  a  truth  that  is  not  true.  I 
think  you  are  charming,  beautiful,  en 
gaging,  enchanting,  mystifying.  I  can 
think  of  no  other  adjectives." 

"If  flattery  is  a  truth  that  is  not  true, 
then  all  your  pretty  adjectives  mean 
nothing." 

"Oh,  but  I  do  not  flatter  you.  Men 
flatter  homely  women — homely  women 
who  are  rich  and  easily  hoodwinked. 
What  I  have  offered  you  in  the  line  of 

'53 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT; 

decorative  adjectives  your  mirror  has 
already  told  you  time  and  time  again. 
Had  I  said  that  you  are  witty,  schol 
arly,  scientific,  vastly  and  highly  intel 
lectual,  not  knowing  you  any  better 
than  I  do,  that  would  have  been  flat 
tery.  Do  you  grasp  the  point?" 

"Nebulously.  You  are  trying  to  say 
something  nice." 

"We  are  getting  on  capitally.  When 
I  left  the  club  to-night  the  wildest 
stretch  of  my  fancy  would  not  have 
placed  me  here  beside  you." 

"Yes," — irrelevantly,  "most  of  us  are 
mad.  Everything  is  so  terribly  monot 


onous." 


"To-night?" 
"Well,  not  to-night." 

154 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"You  have  not  yet  asked  me  who  I 
am." 

"Then  you  are  somebody?" — drolly. 
She  contemplated  me,  speculatively  as 
it  were. 

I  laughed.  This  was  the  most  amus 
ing  and  enchanting  adventure  I  had 
ever  had  the  luck  to  fall  into.  "The 
world  thinks  so,"  I  replied  to  her  ques 
tion. 

"The  world?  What  world?" 

"My  world  .  .  .  and  a  part  of 
yours." 

"Are  you  one  of  those  men  who  ac 
complish  something  besides  novel  din 
ners?" 

"So  I  am  led  to  believe." 

"In  what  way?" 

155 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Ah,  but  that  is  a  secret." 

She  shrugged.  Evidently  she  was  in 
credulous.  "Are  you  an  actor?"  sud 
denly  recollecting  where  she  had 
picked  me  up. 

"Only  in  'All  the  world's  a  stage.' " 

"I  will  ask  you :  Will  you  do  me  the 
honor  of  telling  me  who  you  are?" 

"My  self-respect  denies  me  that 
pleasure." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  This  was  very  hu 
man. 

"Is  it  possible  that  I  am  interesting 
you  ?" — surprised. 

"You  are  a  clever  man,  whoever  and 
whatever  you  are.  Where  did  you 
learn  to  read  a  woman  so  readily? 
Who  told  you  that  when  you  confront 

156 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

a  woman  with  a  mystery  you  trap  her 
interest  along  with  her  curiosity?  Yes, 
you  are  clever.  If  you  told  me  your 
name  and  your  occupation  I  dare  say 
I  should  straightway  become  bored." 

"Truth  still  shivers  on  the  well's 
edge." 

She  nibbled  the  rose-leaves. 

"Does  your  interest  in  episodes  like 
to-night  always  die  so  suddenly?" — 
nodding  toward  the  others,  who  had 
long  since  ceased  to  pay  me  any  par 
ticular  attention. 

"Nearly  always." 

"Very  well;  since  they  have  forgot 
ten  us  let  us  forget  them."  I  leaned  to 
ward  her,  my  voice  was  not  so  steady 
as  it  should  have  been.  "In  what  man- 

157 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

ner  would  it  benefit  me  to  tell  you  my 
name  and  what  my  occupation  in  the 
great  world  is?  Would  it  put  me  on 
the  list  of  your  acquaintances?" 

She  eyed  me  thoughtfully.  "That 
depends." 

"Upon  what?" 

"Whether  you  were  worth  knowing. 
I  addressed  other  gentlemen  in  front  of 
your  club.  They  politely  said  I  had 
made  a  mistake." 

"They  were  old  or  married." 

"That  wasn't  it." 

"Then  they  didn't  see  you  in  the 
light,  as  I  did." 

"What  difference  would  that  have 
made?" 

"All  the  "difference  in  the  world. 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

But  you  have  tabooed  flattery.  I  see 
that  I  should  have  been  a  barber,  a 
mild  lunatic,  or  a  detective." 

"You  would  have  been  easier  to  dis 
pose  of." 

I  directed  my  gaze  toward  the  door, 
and  she  surrendered  a  smile. 

"You  might  be  worth  knowing," — 
musingly. 

"I  promise  to  be." 

"I  shall  give  it  thought.  I  should 
never  forgive  myself  if  I  were  the  in 
direct  cause  of  your  joining  this  car 
nival  of  fools." 

"I  see  that  I  shall  last  much  longer 
in  your  thoughts  as  the  Unknown," — 
reflectively. 

"Eat,"  she  commanded. 

159 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"I  am  not  hungry;  I  have  dined." 

"Drink,  then." 

"I  am  not  thirsty." 

She  took  my  glass  and  poured  the 
contents  into  hers,  then  handed  it  to 
me.  "Now  I"  she  said. 

"Why?" 

""You  make  me  think  of  Monte 
Cristo:  what  terrible  revenge  are  you 
going  to  take?" 

"It  will  be  upon  myself:  that  of 
never  forgetting  you." 

"One  single  sip  I" 

I  accepted  the  glass  and  took  one  sip. 
"Now  I  have  lost  what  I  desired  to  re 
tain — my  respect.  So  long  as  I  touched 
nothing  at  this  table  I  held  the  advan 
tage.  My  name  is — " 
1 60 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  ears. 
"Don't!" 

"Very  well:  the  woman  tempted 
me." 

"Haven't  you  a  better  epigram?" 

"Perhaps  I  am  saving  them." 

"For  what?" 

"Who  knows  that  I  am  not  writing  a 
play?" 

"I  live  here;  a  card  will  find  me  on 
Thursdays  after  four." 

"I  shall  come  Wednesdays,  thereby 
saving  you  the  trouble." 

"That  is  not  wit;  it  is  rudeness.  Do 
not  come  either  Thursdays  or  Wednes 
days." 

"How  shall  you  know  who  it  is?" 

"Trust  a  woman." 
161 


THE   ENCHANTED  HAT 

"Ah,  here  comes  the  butler  with  the 
liqueurs.  I  am  glad.  Presently  I 
should  be  making  love  to  you;  now  I 
am  about  to  be  free." 

"Are  you  quite  sure?" — with  a  pene 
trating  glance.  I  believe  she  knew  the 
power  of  her  beauty. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  free  to  go  home 
where  I  belong," — compromising. 

And  I  rose.  Perhaps  the  drollest 
episode  of  the  dinner  took  place  as  I 
started  for  the  door. 

"Ever  heard  of  Starlight?"  cried 
Uncle  Daniel  down  the  room.  "No? 
jWell,  she's  down  on  the  winter  books  at 
fifty  to  one.  Stack  your  money  on  her 
now;  it's  a  hunch." 

"Thank  you." 

162 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

"Good  night,"  said  I  to  the  girl, 
bowing. 

"Good  night,"  smiling. 

I  wonder  if  she  knew  that  I  had 
stolen  the  rose?  On  the  way  home  my 
mind  returned  to  my  play.  Had  the 
fourth  act  gone  off  as  smoothly  as  the 
others? 

What  a  girl  for  a  man  I 

The  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act,  and 
the  thrilling  sound  of  beating  hands 
came  to  me  dimly. 

"They  are  calling  for  you,"  said 
Shaw  excitedly. 

"What  am  I  to  do?" — nervously. 

"What?    Haven't  you  thought  out 
something  to  say?" — disgustedly. 
163 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Nary  a  word!" 

"Well,  just  lead  out  Miss  Blank  and 
bow.  You're  not  an  old  hand ;  they  will 
let  you  off  without  a  speech." 

So  I  led  the  young  woman  who  had 
helped  to  make  me  famous  to  the  foot 
lights,  and  bowed.  I  do  not  know  what 
caused  me  to  glance  toward  the  left  up 
per  proscenium,  but  I  did  .  .  .  and 
felt  my  heart  stop  and  then  throb  vio 
lently.  It  was  Miss  Berkeley.  Heaven 
only  knows  how  long  I  should  have 
stared  at  her  but  for  the  warning  pres 
sure  of  the  actress'  hand  over  mine. 
We  disappeared  behind  the  curtain.  I 
was  confused  by  many  emotions. 

While  the  hands  were  shifting  about 
the  next  "set"  a  boy  handed  me  the 
164 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

crumpled  margin  of  a  program.  I  un 
folded  it  and  read:  "Will  'Mr.  An 
onymous'  do  Miss  Berkeley  the  honor 
of  visiting  her  box?" 

"Mr.  Anonymous"  presented  him 
self  forthwith.  Miss  Berkeley  was 
with  an  elderly  woman,  who  proved  to 
be  her  grandaunt.  I  was  introduced. 

"Aunty,  this  is  the  gentleman  I  told 
you  about.  Isn't  it  terrible?" 

"Terrible?  I  should  call  it  wholly 
enchanting.  Sir,  you  will  pardon  the 
child  for  her  wildness.  My  nephew 
doesn't  know  as  much  as  his  celebrated 
horses.  Now,  go  ahead  and  talk  while 
I  look  over  the  audience." 

If  only  all  elderly  ladies  were  as 
thoughtful ! 

165 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"And  I  have  read  your  books ;  I  have 
witnessed  your  play!"  Miss  Berkeley 
said. 

"Thursday,  after  four?" 

"No.  Everybody  calls  then.  Come 
Wednesday." 

"I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  said 
I.  "You  dropped  a  rose  on  the  floor 
last  night.  I  stole  it.  Must  I  return  it 
to  you?" 

"I  never  do  anything  without  a  pur 
pose,"  was  all  she  said. 

So  I  kept  the  rose. 


166 


NO   CINDERELLA 

""E  /TAD AM,  have  you  lost  a  slip- 
1V1  per?"  I  asked  politely.  I  held 
toward  her  a  dainty  shoe  that  might 
very  well  have  appareled  the  foot  of 
Venus;  only  one  can  not  quite  lift  the 
imagination  to  the  point  of  picturing 
Venus  rising  out  of  the  Cyprian  wave 
in  a  pair  of  ball-room  slippers. 

"I  am  not  yet  addressed  as  madam," 
said  she,  calmly  drawing  her  skirts 
about  her  feet,  which  were  already  se 
curely  hidden. 

167 


THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

"Not  yet?  Ah,  that  is  very  fortunate, 
indeed.  I  see  I  am  not  too  late." 

"Sir!" 

But  I  saw  no  anger  on  her  face. 
There  was,  however,  a  mixture  of 
amusement,  hauteur  (that  darling 
word  of  the  lady  novelists!)  and  ob 
jection.  She  hadn't  the  least  idea  who  I 
was,  and  I  was  not  going  to  tell  her  for 
some  time,  to  come.  I  was  a  prodigal, 
with  a  few  new  ideas. 

"I  meant  nothing  more  serious  than 
that  you  might  happen  to  be  Cinder 
ella,"  said  I.  "What  in  the  world 
should  I  do  with  Cinderella's  slipper, 
once  she  was  safely  married  to  the 
prince?" 

She  swayed  her  fan  indolently,  but 
168 


NO    CINDERELLA 

made  no  effort  to  rise.  I  looked  on  this 
as  rather  encouraging. 

"It  would  be  somewhat  embarrassing 
to  ask  a  married  woman  if  she  were 
Cinderella,"  I  proceeded. 

"I  should  not  particularize,"  she  ob 
served;  "married  or  single,  it  would  be 
embarrassing." 

She  was  charming;  a  Watteau  shep 
herdess  in  a  fashionable  ball-gown. 
We  were  all  alone  in  the  nook  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  conservatory;  and 
I  was  glad.  Her  eyes  were  brown,  with 
a  glint  of  gold  around  the  pupils,  a 
kaleidoscopic  iris,  as  it  were.  She  pos 
sessed  one  of  those  adorable  chins  that 
defy  the  future  to  double  them;  smooth 
and  round,  such  as  a  man  delights  to 
169 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

curve  his  palm  under;  and  I  might 
search  the  several  languages  I  know  to 
describe  fitly  her  red  mouth.  Her  hair 
was  the  color  of  a  fallen  maple-leaf,  a 
rich,  soft,  warm  October  brown, 
streaked  with  red.  Patience !  You  may 
laugh,  but,  for  my  part,  give  me  a  dash 
of  red  above  the  alabaster  brow  of  a 
pretty  woman.  It  is  a  mute  language 
which  speaks  of  a  sparkling  intellect; 
and  whenever  I  seek  the  exhilaration 
that  rises  from  a  witty  conflict,  I  find 
me  a  woman  with  a  glimmer  of  red  in 
her  hair. 

"Well,  sir?"  said  she,  breaking  in  on 
my  train  of  specific  adjectives. 

"Pardon  me  I  I  was  thinking  how  I 
should  describe  you  were  I  a  success- 
170 


NO   CINDERELLA 

ful  novelist,  which  I  declare  with  no 
little  regret,  I  am  not." 

"You  certainly  have  all  the  assur 
ance  of  a  writer  of  books,  to  speak  to 
me  in  this  manner." 

"My  assurance  is  based  wholly  on 
the  possession  of  a  truant  slipper.  I  am 
bold;  but  the  end  justifies  the  means," 
— having  in  mind  her  foot. 

Her  shoulders  drew  together  and 
fell. 

"I  am  searching  for  the  Cinderella 
who  has  lost  a  slipper;  and  I  am  go 
ing  to  call  you  Cinderella  till  I  have 
proof  that  you  are  not  she  whom  I 
seek." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  replied, 
with  a  hint  of  sunshine  struggling  at 
171 


THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

the  corners  of  her  lips.  "Have  I  ever 
met  you  before?" — puzzling  her 
arched  brows. 

"Memory  does  not  follow  reincarna 
tion,"  I  answered  owlishly;  "but  I  dare 
say  that  I  often  met  you  at  the  Temple 
of  Venus  in  the  old,  old  days." 

She  appeared  slightly  interested. 

"What,  may  I  ask,  was  your  business 
in  the  old,  old  days?" 

"I  played  the  cithern." 

"And  I?" 

"I  believe  you  distributed  flowers." 

"Do  you  know  the  hostess?" — with 
solemn  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes;  though  she  hasn't  the 
slightest  recollection  of  me.  But  that's 
perfectly  natural.  At  affairs  like  this 
172 


NO    CINDERELLA 

the  hostess  recalls  familiarly  to  her 
mind  only  those  who  sat  at  her  dinner- 
table  earlier  in  the  evening.  All  other 
invitations  are  simply  paid  obliga 
tions." 

"You  possess  some  discernment,  at 
least." 

"Thank  you." 

"But  I  wish  I  knew  precisely  what 
you  are  about," — her  eyes  growing 
critical  in  their  examination. 

"I  am  seeking  Cinderella,"  once 
more  holding  out  the  slipper.  Then  I 
looked  at  my  watch.  "It  is  not  yet 
twelve  o'clock." 

"You  are,  of  course,  a  guest  here," — 
ruminating,  "else  you  could  not  have 
passed  the  footman  at  the  door." 

173 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Mark  my  attire ;  or,  candidly,  do  I 
look  like  a  footman?" 

"No-o ;  I  can't  say  that  you  do ;  but 
in  Cinderella,  don't  you  know,  the  foot 
man  carried  the  slipper." 

"Oh,  I'm  the  prince,"  I  explained 
easily;  "I  dismissed  the  footman  at  the 
door." 

"Cinderella,"  she  mused.  She  nes 
tled  her  feet,  and  looked  thoughtfully 
at  her  delicate  hands.  I  could  see  she 
was  at  that  instant  recalling  the  picture 
of  Cinderella  and  the  ash-heap. 

"What  was  the  prince's  name?" 

"In  this  case  it  is  just  a  prince  of 
good  fellows." 

"I  should  like  some  witnesses."  She 
gazed  at  me  curiously,  but  there  was  no 

174 


distrust  in  her  limpid  eye,  as  clear  and 
moteless  as  Widow  Wadman's. 

"Isn't  it  fine,"  I  cried  with"  a  burst 
of  confidence,  "to  possess  the  courage 
to  speak  to  strangers?" 

"It  is  equally  courageous  to  listen," 
was  the  retort. 

"I  knew  I  should  like  you!" — with 
enthusiasm. 

She  stirred  uneasily.  It  might  have 
been  that  her  foot  had  suddenly  grown 
chilled.  A  storm  was  whirling  outside, 
and  the  pale,  shadowy  flakes  of  snow 
brushed  the  windows. 

I  approached  her,  held  up  the  slip 
per  and  contemplated  it  with  wrinkled 
brow.  She  watched  me  covertly.  What 
a  slipper!  So  small  and  dainty  was  it, 

175 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

so  light  and  airy,  that  had  I  suddenly 
withdrawn  my  hand  I  verily  believe  it 
would  have  floated.  It  was  part  satin 
and  part  skin,  and  the  light,  striking 
the  inner  side  of  it,  permeated  it  with 
a  faint,  rosy  glow. 

"What  a  darling  thing  it  is!" — un 
able  to  repress  my  honest  admiration. 
"Light  as  one  of  those  snowflakes  out 
yonder  in  the  night.    What  a  proud 
arch  the  instep  has!    Ah,  but  it  is  a 
high-bred  shoe,  fit  to  tread  on  the  heart 
of  any  man.  Lovely  atom !" 
She  stirred  again.  I  went  on : 
"It  might  really  belong  to  a  princess, 
but  only  in  a  fairy-book;  for  all  the 
princesses  I  have  ever  seen  couldn't  put 
a  hand  in  a  shoe  like  this,  much  less  a 
176 


foot.  And  when  I  declare  to  you,  on 
my  honor,  that  I  have  met  various 
princesses  in  my  time,  you  will  appre 
ciate  the  compliment  I  pay  to  Cinder 
ella." 

The  smile  on  her  lips  wavered  and 
trembled,  like  a  puff  of  wind  on  placid 
water,  and  was  gone. 

"Leave  it,"  she  said,  melting,  "and 
be  gone." 

"I  couldn't.  It  wouldn't  be  gallant 
at  all,  don't  you  know.  The  prince 
himself  put  the  slipper  on  Cinderella." 

"But  this  is  a  modern  instance,  and  a 
prosaic  world.  Men  are  no  longer  gal 
lants,  but  business  men  or  club  gossips ; 
and  you  do  not  look  like  a  business 


man." 


177 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"I  never  belonged  to  a  club  in  my 
life." 

"You  "do  not  look  quite  so  unpopular 
as  all  that." 

A  witty  woman!  To  be  pretty  and 
witty  at  the  same  time — the  gifts  of 
Minerva  and  Venus  in  lavishment! 

"Besides,  it  is  all  very  improper," 
she  added. 

"The  shoe?"  I  cried. 

"No;  the  shoe  is  proper  enough," — 
musingly. 

"You  admit  it,  then!" — joyfully. 

"I  refer  to  the  dialogue  between  two 
persons  who  have  not  been  intro 
duced." 

"Convention!  Formality!  Detest 
able  things,  always  setting  Romance  at 


arm's  length,  and  making  Truth  desire 
to  wear  fashionable  clothes." 

""Nevertheless,  this  is  improper," 
she  repeated. 

"Why,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  I 
said  negligently.  "We  both  have  been 
invited  to  this  house  to  dance ;  that  is  to 
say,  our  hostess  would  not  invite  any 
objectionable  persons.  What  you  mean 
to  say  is,  unconventional.  And  I  hate 
convention  and  formality." 

"Are  you  a  poet,  then?" — with  good- 
natured  derision. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  have  an  earning  capacity 
and  a  pleasant  income." 

She  really  laughed  this  time;  and  I 
vaguely  recalled  pearls  and  coral  and 
murmuring  brooks. 
179 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"Won't  you  please  "do  that  again?"  I 
asked  eagerly. 

But  there  must  have  been  something 
in  my  gaze  that  frightened  Mirth 
away,  for  she  frowned. 

Faintly  came  the  music  from  the 
ball-room.  They  were  playing  the 
waltzes  from  The  Queen's  Lace  Hand 
kerchief.  The  agony  of  an  extempori 
zation  seized  me. 

"Strauss!"  I  cried,  flourishing  the 
slipper.  "The  blue  Danube,  the  moon 
shine  on  the  water,  the  tittle-tattle  of 
the  leaves,  a  man  and  woman  all,  all 
alone!  Romance,  love,  off  to  the 
wars!  ..." 

"It  is  a  far  cry  to  Cinderella,"  she  in 
terrupted. 

1 80 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"Ah,  yes.  Music  moves  me  so 
easily." 

"Indeed  I  It  is  scarcely  noticeable," 
— slyly. 

"Are  you  Cinderella,  then?" 

"I  do  not  say  so." 

"Will  you  dance  with  me  to  prove 
it  one  way  or  the  other?" 

"Certainly  not," — rather  indig 
nantly. 

"Why  not?" 

"There  are  any  number  of  reasons," 
she  replied. 

"Name  just  one." 

"I  do  not  know  you." 

"You  ought  to," — with  a  double 
meaning  which  went  for  absolutely 
nothing. 

181 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"My  angle  of  vision  obscures  that 
idea." 

"If  you  will  stand  up  .  .  .  "  I  hesi 
tatingly  suggested. 

"I  am  perfectly  comfortable  where 
I  am," — with  an  oblique  glance  at  the 
doorway. 

"I  am  convinced  that  you  are  the 
Cinderella;  I  can  not  figure  it  out 
otherwise." 

"Do  not  figure  at  all;  simply  leave 
the  shoe." 

"It  is  too  near  twelve  o'clock  for 
that.  Besides,  I  wish  to  demolish  the 
pumpkin  theory.  It's  all  tommy-rot 
about  changing  pumpkins  into  chari 
ots,  unless  you  happen  to  be  a  success 
ful  pie-merchant." 

182 


NO    CINDERELLA 

'She  bit  her  lips  an'd  tapped  her 
cheek  with  the  fan.  (Did  I  mention 
the  bloomy  cheeks?) 

"Perhaps  I  am  only  one  of  Cinder 
ella's  elder  sisters." 

"That  would  be  very  unfortunate. 
You  will  recollect  that  the  elder  sisters 
cut  off  their—" 

"Good  gracious!" 

"Cut  off  their  toes  in  the  mad  effort 
to  capture  the  prince,"  I  continued. 

"But  I  am  not  trying  to  capture  any 
prince,  not  even  a  fairy  prince;  and  I 
wouldn't — " 

"Cut  off  your  toes?"  I  suggested 
questioningly. 

"Prolong  this  questionable  conversa 
tion,  only — " 

183 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"You  can  not  stop  it  till  you  have  the 
shoe,"  I  said. 

"Only,"  she  went  on  determinedly, 
"I  am  so  comfortable  here  that  I  do  not 
care  to  return  to  the  ball-room  just  at 
present." 

"I  never  expected  such  a  full  com 
pliment;"  and  I  made  her  my  most  en 
gaging  bow. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  cut  off 
your  toes  to  get  into  that  shoe," — ma 
liciously. 

"I  could  expect  no  less  than  that 
from  you.  You  keep  coming  closer  to 
my  ideal  every  moment." 

She  shrugged  disdainfully  and  as 
sumed  a  bored  expression  that  did  not 
deceive  me  in  the  least. 
184 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"Since  you  are  so  determined  to  con 
tinue  this  dialogue,  go  and  fetch  some 
one  you  know.  An  introduction  is  ab 
solutely  necessary."  She  seemed  im 
movable  on  this  point. 

"And  the  moment  I  turned  my  back 
— presto!  away  would  go  Cinderella, 
and  I  should  be  in  the  dark  as  much  as 
ever  regarding  the  pumpkins.  No,  I 
thank  you.  Be  good,  and  confess  that 
you  are  Cinderella." 

"Sir,  this  really  ceases  to  be  amus 
ing."  Her  fan  closed  with  a  snap. 

"It  was  serious  the  moment  I  entered 
and  saw  you,"  I  replied  frankly. 

"I  ought  to  be  annoyed  excessively. 
You  are  a  total  stranger;  I  declare  that 
I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

It  is  true  that  we  are  guests  in  the  same 
house,  but  that  does  not  give  privilege 
to  this  particular  annoyance.  Here  I 
am,  talking  to  you  as  if  it  were  dis 
tinctly  proper." 

"I  can  not  say  that  you  have  put  your 
foot  in  it  yet," — having  recourse  to  the 
slipper  again.  I  was  having  a  fine  time. 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  the  anger 
which  sparkled  in  her  eyes.  Of  course, 
if  she  became  downright  angry  I 
should  tell  who  I  was,  only  it  would 
spoil  everything. 

"And  you  do  not  know  me?"  I  said 
dejectedly.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  have  never  dreamed  of  any 
Prince  Charming?" 

"I  can  not  say  I  have," — icily. 
1 86 


JSTO    CINDERELLA 

A  flock  of  young  persons  came  in 
noisily,  but  happily  they  contented 
themselves  with  the  bowl  of  lemon- 
punch  at  the  other  end  of  the  conserva 
tory. 

I  sat  down  in  the  Roman  chair  which 
stood  at  the  side  of  the  window-seat.  I 
balanced  the  slipper  on  the  palm  of  my 
hand.  Funny,  isn't  it,  how  much  a 
woman  will  put  up  with  rather  than 
walk  about  in  her  stockings.  And  I 
wasn't  even  sure  that  she  had  lost  a 
slipper!  I  wondered,  too,  where  all 
her  dancing  partners  were. 

"You  say  you  do  not  know  me,"  I  be 
gan.  "Let  me  see," — narrowing  my 
eyes  as  one  does  who  attempts  to  recall 
a  dim  and  shadowy  past.  "Didn't  you 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

wear  your  hair  in  two  plaits  down  your 
back?" 

"That  is  regular;  it  is  still  the  cus 
tom  ;  it  proves  nothing." 

"Let  me  recall  a  rambling  old  gar 
ret  where  we  used  to  hold  wonderful 
shows." 

Her  fan  opened  again,  and  the  ten 
drils  at  her  temples  moved  gently. 

"Once  we  played  the  Sleeping 
Beauty,  and  you  said  that  I  should  al 
ways  be  Prince  Charming.  How  easily 
we  forget!" 

She  inclined  forward  a  bit.  There 
were  signs  of  reviving  interest.  She 
began  to  scrutinize  me;  hitherto  she 
had  surveyed  and  examined  me. 

"Once—" 

188 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"Say  'Once  upon  a  time';  all  fairy 
stories  begin  that  way." 

"Thank  you;  I  stand  corrected. 
Well,  once  upon  a  time  you  fell  down 
these  same  garret  stairs ;  and  if  you  will 
lift  that  beautiful  lock  of  hair  from 
your  right  temple  I  shall  see  a  scar.  I 
am  sure  of  your  identity." 

Unconsciously  her  hand  strayed  to 
her  temple,  and  dropped. 

"Whoever  you  are,  you  seem  ac 
quainted  with  certain  youthful  adven 
tures.  But  some  one  might  have  told 
you  these  things,  thinking  to  annoy 
me."  Then  the  light  in  her  eyes  grew 
dim  with  the  struggle  of  retrospection, 
the  effort  to  pierce  the  veil  of  absent 
years,  and  to  place  me  among  the  use- 
189 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

less,  forgotten  things  of  youth,  or 
rather  childhood.  "No,  I  can  not  place 
you.  Please  tell  me  who  you  are,  if  I 
have  ever  known  you." 

"Not  just  now.  Mystery  arouses  a 
woman's  curiosity,  and  I  frankly  con 
fess  that  I  wish  to  arouse  yours.  You 
are  nearly,  if  not  quite,  twenty-four." 

"One  does  not  win  a  woman's  inter 
est  by  telling  her  her  age." 

"But  I  add  that  you  do  not  look  it." 

"That  is  better.  Now,  let  me  see  the 
slipper,"  holding  out  her  hand. 

"To  no  one  but  Cinderella.  I'd  be  a 
nice  prince,  wouldn't  I,  to  surrender 
the  slipper  without  finding  Cinder 
ella!" 

"In  these  days  no  woman  would  per- 
190 


NO    CINDERELLA 

mit  you  to  put  on  her  slipper,  unless 
you  were  her  husband  or  her  brother." 

"No?  Then  I  have  a  much  per 
verted  idea  of  society." 

"And," — passing  over  my  remark, 
"she  would  rather  sit  in  a  corner  all  the 
evening." 

"But  think  of  the  fun  you  are  miss- 
ing!" 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  I  am  not 
missing  very  much  fun.  I  was  at  a 
dance  last  night,  and  the  novelty  be 
gins  to  pall." 

"At  least,  then,  you  will  admit  that 
I  have  proved  a  diversion." 

"It  will  cost  me  nothing  to  admit 
that;  but  I  think  you  are  rude  not  to 
tell  me  right  away  who  you  are." 
191 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

She  looked  out  of  the  blurred  win 
dows.  Her  profile  was  beautiful  to 
contemplate,  and  perhaps  she  knew  it. 

"Why  don't  you  seek  a  footman,"  she 
asked,  after  a  pause,  "and  have  him 
announce  that  you  have  found  a  slip 
per?" 

"Have  you  no  more  regard  for  ro 
mance  than  that?" 

"You  said  that  I  was  twenty-four 
years  old.  I  have  less  regard  for  ro 
mance  than  for  propriety." 

"There  you  go  again,  battening 
down  the  hatches  of  convention!  I  am 
becoming  discouraged." 

"Is  it  possible?  I  have  long  since 
been." 

She  had  always  been  a  match  for  me. 
192 


NO    CINDERELLA 

Enter  upon  the  scene  (as  they  say  in 
the  play-books)  a  flurried  partner, 
rather  young  and  tender  to  be  thrown 
in  company  with  twenty-four  years  of 
sparkling  femininity.  Well,  that  was 
his  affair;  I  didn't  propose  to  warn 
him. 

"Oh,  here  you  are !"  he  cried,  bright 
ening.  "I've  been  looking  for  you 
everywhere," — making  believe  that 
something  was  the  matter  with  his 
gloves. 

"Do  you  know  this  gentleman?"  she 
asked  quietly,  pointing  to  me  with  her 
fan. 

I  felt  a  nervous  tremor.  I  wondered 
if  she  had  been  waiting  for  a  moment 
like  this. 

193 


The  young  fellow  held  out  his  hand ; 
his  smile  was  pleasant  and  inquiring. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  she  interrupted 
wickedly.  "I  am  not  introducing  you. 
I  am  simply  asking  you  if  you  know 
him." 

Wasn't  this  a  capital  revenge? 

"I  ...  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  saw 
the  gentleman  before,"  he  stammered, 
mightily  bewildered.  Then  all  at  once 
his  face  grew  red  with  anger.  He  even 
balled  his  fists.  "Has  he  dared — " 

"No,  no!  I  only  wished  to  know  if 
you  knew  him.  Since  you  do  not  there 
is  nothing  more  to  be  done  about  it." 

"But  if  he  has  insulted — " 

"Sh!  That's  not  a  nice  word  to  hear 
in  a  conservatory,"  she  warned. 
194 


"But  I  do  not  understand." 

"It  is  not  necessary.  If  you  do  not 
take  me  instantly  to  the  ball-room  you 
will  lose  the  best  part  of  the  dance." 

She  rose,  and  then  I  saw  two  little 
blue  slippers  peeping  out  from  under 
the  silken  skirts. 

"You  might  have  told  me,"  I  said  re 
proachfully.  "And  now  I  do  not  be 
lieve  any  other  Cinderella  will  do. 
Young  man,"  said  I,  holding  out  the 
slipper  for  his  inspection,  "I  was  just 
paying  this  lady  the  very  great  compli 
ment  of  thinking  that  this  might  be  her 
shoe." 

"And  it  isn't,"  she  returned.  "Now, 
in  honor  to  yourself,  what  is  my 
name?" 

195 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"You  are  Nancy  Marsden." 

"And  you?" 

"Your  humble  servant," — bending. 

"I  shall  soon  find  out." 

"It  is  quite  possible." 

And  then,  with  a  hand  on  her  escort's 
arm,  she  laughed,  and  walked  (or 
should  I  say  glided?  It  seems  a  sacri 
lege  to  say  that  so  enchanting  a  creature 
walked)  out  of  the  conservatory,  leav 
ing  me  gazing  ruefully  and  mournfully 
at  the  little  white  slipper  in  my  hand. 

Now,  where  in  the  world  was  Cin 
derella? 


196 


II 

I  thrust  the  slipper  into  the  tail  of 
my  coat,  and  strolled  over  to  the  mar 
ble  bench  which  partly  encircled  the 
fountain.  The  tinkle  of  the  falling 
water  made  a  pleasant  sound.  Ten 
years!  I  had  been  away  ten  years. 
How  quickly  youth  vanishes  down  the 
glimmering  track  of  time !  Here  I  was 
at  thirty,  rather  old,  too,  for  that  num 
ber;  and  here  was  that  pretty  girl  of 
fourteen  grown  into  womanhood,  a 
womanhood  that  would  have  stirred 
the  pulses  of  many  a  man  less  suscepti 
ble  than  myself.  That  she  was  unmar 
ried  somehow  made  me  glad,  though 
197 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

why  I  can  not  say,  unless  it  be  that 
vanity  survives  everything. 

I  had  been  violently  in  love  with 
her;  at  that  time  she  hadn't  quite 
turned  six.  Then  I  had  lorded  it  over 
her  tender  eighth  year,  and  from  the 
serene  height  of  twenty  I  had  looked 
down  upon  her  fourteen  in  a  fatherly, 
patronizing  fashion.  As  I  recalled  her 
new  glory  the  truth  came  upon  me  that 
she  was  like  to  pay  me  back  with  inter 
est  for  all  the  snubs  I  had  given  her. 

Off  to  'Heidelberg  and  Bonn  and 
Berlin!  Student  days!  Heigh-ho!  Ten 
years  is  a  long  time.  I  might  still  have 
been  an  alien,  an  exile,  but  for  my  un 
cle's  death  and  that  the  lonely  aunt 
wanted  a  man  about.  (Not  that  I  was 
198 


NO    CINDERELLA: 

much  of  a  man  to  have  about.)  In  all 
these  ten  years  I  had  not  once  visited 
my  native  land,  scandalous  as  it  may 
seem;  but  I  had  always  celebrated  the 
Fourth  of  July  in  my  garden,  cele 
brated  it  religiously,  too,  and  followed 
the  general  elections. 

All  these  people  (or  nearly  all  of 
them)  I  had  known  in  my  youth;  and 
now  not  one  of  them  recognized  me. 
There  was  a  pang  in  this  knowledge. 
No  one  likes  to  be  completely  forgot 
ten,  save  the  absconding  bank-clerk 
and  the  defeated  candidate.  I  had 
made  no  effort  to  recall  myself  to  those 
I  met.  My  hostess  thoughtlessly  sup 
posed  that  I  should  take  on  myself  the 
labor  of  renewing  acquaintance;  but  I 
199 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

found  this  rather  impossible.  Every 
thing  was  changed,  the  people  and  the 
city;  the  one  had  added  to  its  height 
and  the  other  to  its  girth.  So  I  simply 
wandered  about  the  familiar  rooms 
summoning  up  the  pleasant  ghosts  of 
bygone  days.  Then  came  the  slipper 
episode — and  Nancy! 

Home  again!  No  more  should  the 
sea  call,  nor  the  sky,  nor  the  hills ;  I  was 
home  again,  for  ever  and  for  ever,  so  I 
hoped. 

And  then  I  glanced  up  from  my 
reverie  to  behold  a  woman,  fair,  fat 
and  forty-eight,  seat  herself  breath 
lessly  on  the  far  end  of  the  bench.  I 
recognized  her  instantly:  she  had  been 
one  of  the  salient  features  of  my  child- 
200 


NO    CINDERELLA 

hood,  only  a  little  further  removed 
than  my  mother  herself.  She  was  florid 
in  her  October  years ;  twenty  years  ago 
she  had  been  plump  and  pretty;  now 
she  was  only  pretty  plump.  But  a  rol 
licking  soul  beamed  from  her  kindly 
eyes.  So  I  bethought  me  of  the  slipper, 
dragged  it  forth,  rose  and  approached. 

"Madam,"  said  I  gravely,  "are  you 
Cinderella?" 

She  balanced  her  lorgnette  and 
stared,  first  at  the  slipper,  then  at  me. 

"Young  man,  don't  be  silly.  Do  I 
look  like  a  woman  who  could  wear  a 
little  thing  like  that?  Run  along  with 
you,  and  don't  make  fun  of  poor  old 
women.  If  there  is  any  Cinderella 
around  here  I'm  only  her  godmother." 
201 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

For  a  moment  I  stood  abashed. 
Here  was  one  who  had  outlived  van 
ity,  or  at  least  had  discovered  its  worth- 
lessness. 

"Have  you  no  vanity,  madam?"  I 
asked  solemnly. 

"If  I  have  it  has  ceased  to  protrude. 
Go  and  give  the  slipper  to  a  footman, 
and  don't  keep  some  girl  hopping 
around  on  one  foot." 

I  was  almost  tempted  to  tell  her  who 
I  was. 

"Madam,  there  was  a  time" — I  be 
gan. 

"Oh,  yes;  thirty  years  ago  I  might 
have  claimed  the  slipper;  I  might  even 
have  worn  it," — complacently. 

"Please  permit  me  to  conclude :  there 
202 


NO    CINDERELLA 

was  a  time  when  you  held  me  on  your 
knees." 

"What?" 

"It  is  indeed  so." 

"Confess,  then,  that  you  were  prop 
erly  spanked.  .  .  .  'Heavens  and 
earth,  wherever  did  you  come  from?" 
she  exclaimed  suddenly.  "Sit  down  be 
side  me  instantly!"  And  she  called  me 
by  name. 

It  was  the  third  time  I  had  heard  it 
that  night.  I  had  heard  it  so  infre 
quently  that  I  liked  the  sound  of  it. 

"And  it  is  really  you?"  pushing  me 
off  at  arm's  length  the  better  to  observe 
the  changes  that  had  taken  place.  "You 
grow  more  like  your  father;  if  you 
hadn't  that  beard  you  would  be  the  ex- 
203 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

act  picture  of  your  father  when  he 
married  your  mother.  Oh,  what  a 
pretty  wedding  it  was!" 

"I  shall  have  to  take  your  word  for 
it.  I  was  up  and  about,  however,  at  the 
tin  anniversary." 

"I  remember.  Oh,  but  what  a  racket 
you  made  among  the  pans!"  She 
laughed  softly  at  the  recollection. 

"I  was  properly  spanked  that  night," 
I  admitted. 

And  straightway  we  uncovered 
thirty  and  twenty  years  respectively. 

"By  the  way,"  said  I  carelessly,  "is 
Nancy  Marsden  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried?" 

"Nancy?  She  never  will  be,  to  my 
idea.  She  recently  turned  down  a  real 
204 


NO    CINDERELLA 

duke:  a  duke  that  had  money  and 
everything." 

"And  everything:  is  that  castles?"  I 
inquired. 

"Nonsense!" 

"Well,  between  you  and  me  and  the 
gate-post,  Miss  Nancy  will  be  engaged 
within  two  months." 

"No!"— excitedly. 

"It  is  written." 

"And  to  whom,  pray?" 

"It's  the  woman's  place  to  announce 
an  engagement.  But  I  know  the  man." 

"He  is  worthy?" 

"Oh,  as  men  go." 

Then  the  water-clock  in  the  fountain 
struck  twelve,  and  I  sprang  up. 

"Mercy,  I'll  never  find  any  Cinder- 
205 


THE    ENCHANTED   HAT 

ella  at  this  rate.  All  is  lost  if  she  es 
capes  me." 

I  kissed  her  hand  gratefully,  and 
made  off. 

I  immediately  ran  into  a  young  miss 
who,  judging  from  her  short  dresses, 
was  a  guest  on  sufferance,  not  having 
''come  out"  yet. 

"Are  you  Cinderella?"  I  asked,  with 
all  the  gravity  I  could  assume. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  but  mama  will  not 
permit  me,"  her  cheeks  growing  furi 
ously  red. 

I  passed  on,  willing  to  wager  that  the 
little  girl  had  understood  me  to  ask  her 
to  dance  with  me. 

How  I  searched  among  the  young 
faces ;  many  I  saw  that  I  knew,  but  my 
206 


NO    CINDERELLA 

confounded  beard  (which  I  'deter 
mined  to  cut  the  very  next  morning) 
hid  me  as  completely  as  the  fabled  in 
visible  cloak.  I  wondered  where  Jim 
was — Nancy's  brother.  I  had  seen  him 
in  Europe,  and  I  knew  if  he  were  any 
where  around  there  would  be  one  to 
clap  me  on  the  back  and  bid  me  wel 
come  home.  This  prodigal  business 
isn't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be.  ... 
Somehow  I  felt  that  within  a  few  days 
I  should  be  making  love  again  to 
Nancy;  and  I  may  truthfully  add  that 
I  'dreaded  the  ordeal  while  I  courted 
it. 

What  if  she  refused  me  in  the  end? 
I  cast  out  at  once  this  horrific  thought 
as  unworthy  a  man  of  my  address. 
207 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

Under  the  stairway  there  was  a  cozy 
corner.  Upon  the  cushions  I  saw  a 
dark-haired  girl  in  red.  Now,  when 
they  haven't  a  dash  of  red  in  their  hair 
I  like  it  in  their  dress.  She  was  pretty, 
besides;  so  I  stopped. 

"Pardon  me,  but  won't  you  tell  me 
if  you  are  Cinderella?" — producing 
the  slipper. 

"I  am," — she  said  with  an  amused 
smile. 

"Then  there  is  a  Cinderella,  after 
all?"  I  cried  joyfully.  "Where  are  the 
pumpkins?"  glancing  about. 

"I  believe  that  several  of  them  have 
gone  hunting  for  the  slipper." 

I  was  delighted.  Three  witty  women 
all  in  one  night,  and  two  of  them 
208 


NO    CINDERELLA 

charming.  It  was  more  than  a  man  had 
any  right  to  expect. 

"You  have  really  and  truly  lost  a 
slipper?" 

'"Really  and  truly;  only  I  am  not  the 
Cinderella  you  are  looking  for."  From 
under  her  skirt  there  came  into  view 
(immediately  to  disappear)  a  small 
scarlet  slipper. 

I  was  very  much  taken  aback. 

"Red?"  said  I.  "Ah,  I  have  it.  The 
wicked  fairy  has  cast  a  spell  over  the 
slipper  and  turned  it  white." 

"That  would  simplify  everything 
...  if  we  lived  in  fairy-tale  times. 
Oh,  dear,  there  are  no  fairies  nowadays, 
and  I  wonder  how  in  the  world  I  am 
to  get  home." 

209 


"You  have  the  pumpkins  and  the 


mice." 


"Only  the  pumpkins;  it  is  after 
twelve,  and  all  the  mice  have  gone 
home." 

"Haven't  you  an  incantation?"  I 
asked. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  dramati 
cally.  "Be  gone,  young  man,  be  gone!" 

"Very  good,"  said  I ;  "but  I  am  im 
pervious  to  incantations  of  that  sort." 

"I  wonder  where  the  other  Cinder 
ella  is?" — adroitly.  It  was  quite  evi 
dent  that  she  wanted  to  be  rid  of  me. 

If  I  hadn't  met  Nancy — ! 

"Suppose  I  try  this  white  slipper  on 
your  foot?" 

"It  is  not  a  supposable  matter." 
210 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"Would  that  I  possessed  a  cobbler's 
license  I" — sighing. 
She  laughed.  "You  wouldn't  be  half 


so  nice." 


This  was  almost  the  beginning  of  an 
enchantment. 

"If  you  will  turn  your  head  toward 
the  wall  I'll  try  on  the  slipper.  I  am 
curious  to  learn  if  there  is  a  girl  here 
who  has  a  smaller  foot  than  I." 

"Vanity,  vanity,  all  is  vanity  I" 

" 'Tisn't  vanity;  it's  curiosity;  and 
maybe  my  foot  is  getting  cold." 

I  took  some  pillows  and  piled  them 
on  the  floor.  "How  will  this  do?" 

"Since  I  can  not  have  the  slipper  I 
shall  not  move.  Besides,  I  am  sitting 
on  the  unshod  foot.  Hadn't  you  better 
211 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

sit  down  here  beside  me  and  give  an 
account  of  yourself  and  what  you  have 
been  doing  all  these  ten  years?" 

"You  know  me?"  genuinely  aston 
ished. 

"But  you  do  not  know  me?" 

"No;  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  admit, 
but  I  do  not  recognize  you." 

"Don't  you  remember  Betty  Lee?" 

"Betty  Lee?  That  homely  little  girl 
turned  into  a  goddess?  Small  wonder 
that  I  didn't  recognize  you." 

"My  girl  friends  all  say  that  I 
haven't  changed  a  bit  in  ten  years." 

"Envy,  malice,  jealousy!  But  it  is 
odd  that  you  should  recognize  me  and 
that  Nancy  Marsden  should  forget 


me." 


212 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"I  used  to  detest  you;  we  forget  only 
those  we  love." 

Enter  one  of  the  pumpkins,  a  young 
fellow  about  twenty.  Hang  it,  I  was 
always  being  interrupted  by  some  cal 
low  youth ! 

"Here's  your  confounded  shoe,  Bett. 
I've  had  a  deuce  of  a  time  finding  it." 
He  tossed  the  slipper  cavalierly  into 
her  lap. 

"Young  man,"  said  I  severely,  "you 
will  never  succeed  with  the  ladies." 

"The  lady  happens  to  be  my  sister," 
— haughtily. 

"Pardon  me!"  —  contritely.  "I 
should  have  remembered  that  sisters 
don't  belong." 

The  girl  laughed  and  pushed  out  one 
213 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

of  the  pillows.  Then  she  gave  me  the 
slipper. 

"We'll  not  haggle  over  a  cobbler's 
license,"  she  said. 

I  knelt  and  put  on  the  slipper.  Only 
one  thing  marred  the  completeness  of 
my  happiness:  the  slipper  wasn't  a 
blue  one. 

The  girl  stood  up  and  shook  the 
folds  in  her  dress,  then  turned  coldly 
on  her  brother. 

"You  are  a  disgrace  to  the  family, 
Bob." 

"Oh,  fudge!  Come  on  along  to  sup 
per;  it's  ready,  and  I'm  half  starved." 

Brothers  don't  belong,  either. 

"I  wish  you  luck  with  the  white  slip 
per,"  said  Betty,  as  she  turned  to  leave. 
214 


NO    CINDERELLA 

"Call  on  me  soon,  and  I'll  forgive  all 
the  past." 

"That  I  shall."  But  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  should  call  on  Nancy  first. 
Otherwise  it  would  be  dangerous. 

I  stood  alone.  It  rather  hurt  to  think 
one  girl  should  remember  me  and  that 
the  other  should  absolutely  forget.  But 
supper  brought  me  out  of  my  cogita 
tions.  So  once  again  I  put  away  the 
slipper  and  looked  at  my  supper-card. 
I  was  destined  to  sit  at  table  four.  I 
followed  the  pilgrims  out  to  worship  at 
the  shrine  of  Lucullus. 

Evidently  there  was  no  Cinderella; 
or,  true  to  her  condition  in  life,  she  was 
at  this  moment  seated  before  her  ash- 
heap,  surrounded  by  strutting  and  coo- 
215 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

ing  doves.  Well,  well,  I  could  put  the 
slipper  on  the  mantel  at  home;  it 
would  be  a  pleasant  reminder. 

I  found  table  four.  There  were  four 
chairs,  none  of  them  occupied;  and  as 
I  sat  down  I  wondered  if  any  one  I 
knew  would  sit  down  with  me. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  rudely  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  entering 
a  gentleman's  house  in  this  manner?" 
demanded  a  stern  voice. 

I  turned,  my  ears  burning  hotly. 

"You  old  prodigal  1  You  old  man- 
without-a-country!  You  pirate!"  went 
on  the  voice.  "How  dared  you  sneak  in 
in  this  fashion?  Nan,  what  would  you 
do  with  him  if  you  were  in  my  place?" 
216 


NO    CINDERELLA 

The  voice  belonged  to  Nancy  Mars- 
den's  brother. 

"I  have  no  desire  to  put  myself  in 
your  place,"  said  the  only  girl  who 
could  be  Cinderella. 

"I  wouldn't  bother  about  his  slipper, 
not  if  he  went  barefooted  all  his  life," 
said  I. 

And  then,  and  then,  and  then !  What 
a  bombardment!  How  pleased  I  was! 
I  was  inordinately  happy,  and  I  didn't 
eat  a  thing  till  the  salad. 

"How  could  you!"  said  Nancy. 

"But  you  didn't  recognize  me," — 
with  a  show  of  defiance;  "and  I  ex 
pected  that  you  would  be  the  very 
first." 

"Cut  off  that  horrid  beard." 
217 


THE   ENCHANTED   HAT 

"To-morrow  morning." 

"And  never  wear  it  again." 

"Never." 

"Have  you  found  Cinderella?" 
Nancy  asked  presently. 

"No;  but  I  haven't  given  up  all 
hope." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

With  some  hesitance  I  placed  the 
slipper  in  her  hand.  She  looked  at  it 
sharply. 

"Good  gracious!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  this  slipper  has  never  been 
(worn  at  all.  It  is  brand  new!"  She  was 
greatly  bewildered. 

"I  know  it,"  I  replied;  "I  brought  it 
myself." 

218 


NO    CINDERELLA 

Then  how  she  laughed!  And  when 
I  asked  her  to  do  it  again  she  did,  even 
more  heartily  than  before. 

"You  will  always  be  the  same," — 
passing  the  slipper  back  to  me. 

"No,  I  want  to  be  just  a  little  differ 
ent  from  now  on," — inscrutably. 

She  gave  me  an  indescribable  glance. 

"Give  the  slipper  to  me." 

"To  keep?" 

"Yes,  to  keep.  Somehow,  I  rather 
fancy  I  should  like  to  try  it  on," — de 
murely. 

So  I  gave  her  the  slipper. 


219 


University  of  California 

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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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